SHIP AND SHORE: 



LEAVES FROM THE JOURNAL OF A CRUISE 



LEVANT. 



BY AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES' NAVY. 



NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY LEAVITT, LORD & CO. 

180 Broadway; 

AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT 
THE UNITED STATES. 

1835. 



-jjoil 4 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by Lea- 
vitt, Lord & Co., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the 
Southern District of New-York. 






UNIVERSITY PRESS. 



TO MRS. E. D. READ, 

As a slight acknowledgment of the pleasures which 
her society afforded the author, through most of the 
scenes sketched in the following pages, this unpretend- 
ing volume, written merely as a pastime — as a refuge 
from the monotony of a life at sea — is now inscribed, 
with many sentiments of respect and affection. 



ERRATA. 

For the correction of all errors, save those of the type-case, the 
reader is respectfully referred to the the ship's log-book, deposited in 
the Navy Department at Washington, under the charge of a Secre- 
tary, who never refuses what is right, or grants what is wrong. 



CONTENTS. 



Preface. 



Chapter 1 13 

The Light-house— Spirit of Memory— Presentiment— Loss of 
Companions— Ship Discipline— Ladies on board a Man-of-War — 
Ward-Room Officers— Midshipmen— Traits of a Sailor— The Set- 
ting Sun — Funeral at Sea. 

Chapter II 29 

First sight of Land— Peak of Pico— Terceira— City of Angra— 
Visit to the shore — Appearance of the Inhabitants— Cathedral — 
Vespers — Convent — Nuns— Gardens — Singular Monument — Sha- 
ving the Hog— A Gale. 

Chapter III 41 

Madeira— First Appearance — Effect of Sunset — Ride into the In- 
terior— Ponies— Burroqueros — Deep Ravines — Peasantry — A Ma- 
deiran Beauty — An English Lady— Dinner and Dancing. 

Chapter IV 51 

Madeira continued— Excursion — Villa of an English Bachelor — 
Tragical death of George Canning— Wild Ravine— Singular Wa- 
ter-Fall—Lady of the Mount— Superstition— The dying Mother's 
Request— Star of Bethlehem. 

Chapter V (JO 

Madeira continued— Visit to the Convent of Santa Clara— Intro- 
duction to a beautiful Nun — Her Involuntary Confinement — Per- 
sonal Attractions— Mental Accomplishments — Proposed Scheme 
of Escape, 

v 



O CONTENTS. 

Chapter VI 69 

A Singular Marriage— Cathedral— Clergy— Weighing a Protest- 
ant—The proscribed Hidalgo— Camancha Villa— Its Lady— The 
Ribeiro— A Sleeping Sentinel— Mystery of Sleep. 

Chapter VII 78 

Madeira continued— Morning — Matins of Maria— Ride to the 
Curral — Stupendous Scenery— Quiet Hamlet— Force of Habit — 
Saint's Day— Homage of Gun-Powder — Recollections of Home 
—Twilight— The Vesper-Bell. 

Chapter VIII 88 

Sketches of Madeira — Physical Features — Wines — Climate — 
City of Funchal — Priests — Society— Morals — Peasantry— Mer- 
chants— Political Opinions— Habits of the Ladies— Courtships— 
Our Parting and Farewell. 

Chapter IX 100 

Passage from Madeira to Lisbon— Sea-sickness as a Purgatorial 
State — Situation of a Member of Congress and Officer of the 
Navy compared — Rock of Lisbon — Pilot — Tagus — Cheering — 
Rockets— Don Miguel. 

Chapter X 109 

Lisbon— Cabriolets— Postillion— Madam Julia's Hotel — A Parti- 
san Merchant— Alcantra Aqueduct— Church of St. Roque — Mo- 
saics — Queen Maria First— Church of St. Domingo— Statue of 
King Joseph— The Earthquake— Inquisition. 

Chapter XI 124 

Excursion to Cintra — Scenery— Marialv a Villa — Peter's Prison — 
Penha Convent — Royal Palace — Visit to Mafra Castle- -Its Ex- 
tent — Richness — Singular Origin — Return to Lisbon. 

Chapter XII 137 

Lisbon— Street — Dogs — Don Miguel — Habits of the Females — 
Friars and Monks— Perils of Night-Walking — Impositions on 
Strangers — A blind Musician — Political Disasters. 

Chapter XIII.... 149 

Passage from Lisbon to Gibralter— Diversions of the Sailor — 
His tact at telling Stories— Love of the Song— Fondness for Dan- 
cing — Unhappy Propensities— Duty of the Government. 



CONTENTS. / 

Chapter XIV 157 

Gibralter— A befitting emblem of British Power— Romance of its 
History— Fortifications— Troops— Motley Population— Summit of 
the Rock— St. Michel's Cave— The Five Hundred— Monboddo's 
Originals— Pleasure Party— Music and a Mermaid. 

Chapter XV 170 

Malaga— Coming to Anchor— Cathedral— Tomb of Moliana — 
Fiddles and Organs in Churches— Castle of the Moors — Hours of 
a Malaguena— Traits of a singular Bandit — A Spanish Lady- — 
Twilight and the Promenade — A Funeral. 

Chapter XVI 183 

Passage from Malaga to Mahon — Tedious Calms— Relieving In- 
cidents — Visit of a Bird — Capture of an ominous Shark— Intru- 
sions of a Ghost — Unfair taking off of a Black Cat — Petted 
Hedgehog— Morgan's Spectre at Niagara. 

Chapter XVII 197 

Mahon — Harbor — Fort St. Philip— Admiral Byng — Lazaretto — 
Navy-Yard — Habits of the Mahonees — Effects of a certain Vice 
on Man— Grand Organ — Sailors on Shore — Jack and the Opera- 
Entertainments. 

Chapter XVIII 212 

Passage from Mahon to Naples — Life at Sea — Chest of a Sailor — 
Power of a Poet — Track of the Ship— Naples from the Harbor — 
Unreasonable Quarantine — Grievious Disappointment — Prema- 
ture Departure. 

Chapter XIX 223 

Passage from Naples to Messina— Volcano of Stromboli— Dead 
Calms — Utility of Whales— Pastimes in Calms— Faro di Messina 
— Charibdis and Scylla— Ancient Whirlpool— Curiosities of the 
Sea— Messina from the Strait. 

Chapter XX 233 

Excursion to Mount Etna— Sleeping in a Corn-field — Incidents 
of the Ascent — Storm at Night — View from the Summit — De- 
scent—Catania — Gaiety of the Living above the Dead — Museum 
of the Prince of Biscari — Franciscan Monk. 



8 CONTENTS. 

Chapter XXI 246 

Passage from Messina to Milo— Marat and Ney— Tides of the 
Strait — Island of Candia — Island of Cerigo — Aspect of Milo— 
Historic Incidents— Greek Pilot— Medicinal Springs— Natural 
Grottoes— Ancient Tombs. 

Chapter XXII 256 

Town of Milo— Steepness of the Streets— Advice to Distillers — 
Statue of Venus — View from the Town — Greek Wedding — 
Dress and Person of the Bride— Fickleness of Fashions in Dress -— 
Anecdote of Franklin. 

Chapter XXIII 268 

Passage from Milo to Smyrna— Cape Colonna — Temple of Mi- 
nerva — Profession of Pirates— Island of Ipsara — Aspect of Scio — 
Massacre of the Inhabitants— Conduct of the Allies — Gulf of 
Smyrna — Traits of the Sailor. 

Chapter XXIV 282 

Smyrna— Its Seamen— Its Motley Population— The Tartar Janis- 

ary— Modern Warfare— Encounters in threading the Streets— 

c Fruit Market— Bazars— Greek Girls— Turkish Burial-ground— 

> The Child unacquainted with Death. 

Chapter XXV 295 

Smyrna continued— Religious Sects — Visit to Governor — His Pa- 
ace — Pipes — Horses— Troop s— Coffee-house Scene— Prayers of 
j the Mussulmen — Martyrdom of Poly carp— Birth-place of Ho- 
mer—Parting with the Reader. 



PREFACE. 



In defiance of a profound maxim of my distant rela- 
tive — I say distant, because he was so far removed from 
me on the genealogical tree that even a Yankee pedlar in 
the remote part of the South would not, upon the force of 
such a relationship, put up his horse and himself for 
more than six weeks, and that must place him on a very 
extreme twig, perhaps even its shadow. — By the way- 
it is a little singular that these fellows of the wooden nut- 
meg should always know where to find a market for their 
nuts and notions. — But as I was saying — in defiance of a 
profound maxim of my distant relative — what a world of 
tender thoughts and emotions spring up in that one word 
relative ! — what beings step from the magic of its circle : — 
uncles not a few, aunts without number, and cousins a 
whole ship load — all taking a warm interest in you if rich, 
a pride in you if learned or politically great, and never 
deserting you unless you become poor — blessings on their 
sweet hearts ! — Without them what would a man be, or 
rather, what would the world be to him? — A garden with- 



10 PREFACE. 

out a flower, a grove without a bird, an evening sky with- 
out one lovely star. — His feelings would break over his 
desolate heart like a sunless ocean surging over a dead 
world. — But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound 
maxim of my distant relative, the author of — that word 
author /—it never had such a fearful meaning to me be- 
fore. — It may be my imagination, but it seems like a gar- 
ment lined with sharp hatchel -teeth to be wrapped around 
my naked form. — It so agitates my whole system, that my 
poor bedstead gets into such a shake every night, as to 
take quite all the next day for it to become tranquil, and 
even then the tester trembles like an aspen leaf, or a 
pigeon, in a thunder-storm. — To see others become au- 
thors — to see them tried, condemned and executed, is 
comparatively nothing ; but to be put to the bar your- 
self — to hear your own sentence — to see the noose tied 
for your own neck, and to know that among the thou- 
sands who are gathering to witness your swinging fidgets, 
not one heart will throb with pity ; — it is this which so 
agitates and confounds me ! — But as I was saying — in de- 
fiance of a profound maxim of my distant relative, the au- 
thor of Lacon — that is a book which only the wise will 
read, and only the profound can comprehend,—- it is an in- 
tellectual mine, where every thought is a diamond of the 
keenest edge, and most brilliant ray, and where giants 



PREFACE. 11 

may work with their pick- axes and still leave it unexplor- 
ed ; and yet he who created this mine had nothing about him 
in keeping with it — no consistency in morals or money. — 
He was the most singular of men — dining on a herring, and 
keeping the most splendid coach in London — wearing a 
hat soiled and rent with years, and trowsers that betrayed 
at the bottoms of their legs the gnawing despair of some 
famishing rat, and carrying at the same time in the top of 
his snuff-box a diamond that was itself an independent 
fortune, — preaching a part of the year to his English pa- 
rishioners, and gambling out the rest in the French me- 
tropolis. — But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound 
maxim of my distant relative the author of Lacon — who 
I am sorry to say committed suicide — committed it too af- 
ter having penned against the act an aphorism that might 
well have fallen from the lips of an angel ; — an apho- 
rism numbered in his manuscripts C C C, which ex- 
press not only its numerical relation, but the initials of 
his own name, as if he had unknowingly addressed it to 
himself. — If there be not something more than mere 
coincidence in this, then there is no truth in my grand- 
mother's manual on augeries. — And yet he committed the 
act ; — but such is ever the inconsistency of one who has 
broken the balance-wheel in his moral nature. — He is like a 
ship, that has lost her helm — with which the winds for a 



// 



12 PREFACE. 

time disport, then dash it on the rocks ! — But as I was say- 
ing — in defiance of a profound maxim of my distant rela- 
tive, the author of Lacon, which says there ! I have 

forgotten now what it says — this is a hard case — for I was 
just making port — all ready to let go anchor — and I am 
now out at sea again in a fog — this dirty, thick weather 
always comes on as you near a coast — it has been the 
cause of more shipwrecks than all the tempests put to- 
gether. — Most people think the nearer the shore the safer 
the ship — directly the reverse — a whale is never stranded 
at sea, nor is a ship — unless an island comes bobbing up 
out of the water like Venus — a debut which I think was 
in extremely bad taste. — But the fog begins to break 
away — and now, as I was saying, in defiance of a pro- 
found maxim of my distant relative, the author of Lacon, 
which says, — " a writer who cannot throw fire into his 
works ought to throw his works into the fire" — I publish 
this book — rather I allow it to escape. 

Go, little book, I will not burn thee, 

Wander at will the country o'er. 
And tell to all who do not spurn thee. 

Thy simple tale of Ship and Shore. 



Author, 



Boston, Aug. 1835. 



SHIP AND SHORE. 



CHAPTER I. 

The Light house— Spirit of Memory— Presentiment— Loss of Com- 
panions—Ship Discipline— Ladies on board a Man-of- War— Ward- 
Room Officers— Midshipmen— Traits of a Sailor— The Setting 
Sun — Funeral at Sea. 

It is now seven days since we weighed anchor 
in Hampton Roads, and took our parting leave of 
the land. The last object that vanished from my 
steadfast eye was the old Light House on Cape 
Henry. I watched that as it sunk slowly in the 
horizon, and felt, when it was gone, as one that has 
parted with a venerable, attached friend. Never be- 
fore did a light house appear to me an object of such 
beauty, fidelity and affectionate regard. It seemed 
as if it had come forth from the thousand objects of 
the heart's yearning remembrances, to take its posi- 
tion on that promontory, where it might look its last 
farewell, and express its kindest wishes. 

During the seven days that we have been at sea, 
2 



14 SPIRIT OF MEMORY. 

I have lived but in the past. That segment of 
life's poor circle through which I have gone has 
sprung from its grave, bringing with it each inci- 
dent of pleasure and sorrow, each object of pursuing 
hope, and lingering endearment. How mysterious 
is the spirit of memory — how painfully true to the 
objects of its trust — how quick and vital over the 
relics of joys that have fled — friendships that have 
ceased — errors that have been wept ! How in- 
tensely it concentrates into a point, years of wisdom 
or weakness, pleasure or pain — pouring through the 
soul, in an unbroken current, the mingled sensations 
that have blessed or blighted its previous existence ! 
The ocean is its empire. I should not envy a guilty 
man his repose, who should here seek an escape from 
the deserts and the haunting remembrance of his 
crimes. Every wave in this vast solitude would 
speak to him as from eternity, and every dark cloud 
would bear in its folds a message of wildest thunder. 
If there be a cavern in hell, where anguish is 
without alleviation, it must be that where a guilty 
spirit suffers in solitude. 

I am not a believer in supernatural intimations, 
yet the presentiment that I am never to retrace my 
steps, that I shall never see again the cherished be- 
ings that encircle the hearth of my home clings to 
my heart with a dark and desperate pertinacity. 
You may smile at this if you will, and expose its 
want of philosophy, but it is proof against all argu- 



PRESENTIMENT. 15 

merit and ridicule. It is not the effect of fear, for 
this is not the first time that I have been at sea, and 
my confidence in the power and capacity of a ship to 
triumph over the conflicting elements, has increased 
with every day's experience ; nor is it from any ap- 
prehensions connected with those diseases which 
frequently scourge the places which we are to visit, 
for I have been in those putrid ports and cities where 
one of the most familiar sights is the black hearse 
rumbling on its dismal errand. Nor is it to be 
traced to any fearful inferences from an extreme 
feebleness of constitution, for this very debility is 
frequently the best shield against malignant disease. 
The sturdy oak breaks before the tempest, but the 
pliant sapling yields, and when the storm has passed 
over erects itself. Nor is this gloomy presentiment 
ascribable to that melancholy mood of mind which 
darkly predicts ills, that are never to be experienced, 
nor to that morbid sentimentality which affects sor- 
rows, that are never felt. It is an undefined, invo- 
luntary and inexplicable conviction which reason 
did not induce, and which reason cannot force away. 
Dr. Johnson believed in ghosts, and would not cross 
his threshhold left foot first ; and no arguments, 
however profound and ingenious, could have con- 
vinced that sagacious reasoner that he was unphilo- 
sophical, or superstitious. The hare is not timid 
that trembles where the lion shakes. 



16 LIFE AT SEA. 

Had any one told me a few years since that I 
was to become a sailor, that I should at this time be 
on board a man-of-war, bound to the Mediterranean, 
I should have regarded the prediction with incredu- 
lous amazement. But 

"How little do we know, that which we are, 
How less, what we may be." 

Time and the force of circumstances work changes 
upon us of which we little dream. The very habits 
which fitted me for the contemplative quietude of 
the closet, by undermining my health, have driven 
me into an opposite extreme ; for there is no situa- 
tion where every element is more stirring and rest- 
less than on board an armed ship. It would seem 
as if the principles of a perpetual motion had found 
a favorite lodgment in every particle of which this 
vast floating fabric is composed. There is not a 
spar, or plank, or rope, that does not appear to have 
caught this spirit of uneasiness. Much more the 
jovial tar, whose home is on the mountain wave> 
who loves the quick breeze, and the rapid sea, and 
who regards a life free from these excitements as a 
state of listlessness and inactivity unbecoming a 
breathing man. 

I am not quite a stranger to the peculiarities of 
my present condition. A former cruise in another 
quarter has familiarised me in some measure to the 
strange habitudes of nautical life. Alas ! I can 



LOSS OF COMPANIONS. 17 

never think of that cruise without grief. We left 
there three of our dearest companions, who will re- 
turn no more ! They were in the spring-time of 
life, full of hope, enterprise, and lofty resolutions, but 
they have gone down to the silence and dreamless 
sleep of the grave. Their generous purposes and 
goodly promise have all perished in the bud. How 
often has the mother, in the depth of her anguish, 
doubted the melancholy tale, and how has the little 
sister, unacquainted with death, still expected her 
brothers return. Spring shall return with its buds 
of promise, summer with its purpling fruits, autumn 
with its golden harvest, but these come not again ; 
there is no returning pathway through the grave. 

The journal which I have now commenced, 
and which I intend to continue during the cruise, 
shall be confined mainly to my first and freshest 
impressions. I will cast into it the bright, the 
mournful, the deep or transcient feelings, which the 
different incidents or objects encountered may 
awaken. There is only one subject upon which I 
shall reserve myself, and that is the government, 
the discipline of the ship. The moral and political 
mechanism of a floating community like this is too 
peculiar, too intricate and complicated for hasty 
opinion, and I shall therefore wait the results of the 
fullest experience. 

Few situations involve a more perplexing respon- 
sibility or require a higher combination of rare 
2*~ 



18 SHIP DISCIPLINED 

talent, than that of the commander of a national 
ship. To be popular and at the same time efficient, 
he must be able to enforce a most strict and rigid 
discipline, without giving to it that cast of unfeeling 
severity, to which the despotical nature of a ship's 
government is extremely liable. He must be open 
and undisguised, and express even his sentiments of 
disapprobation with a freedom and frankness, which 
may lead the subordinate officer to the instantaneous 
conviction that there are no suppressed feelings of bit- 
terness, which may, in an unexpected hour, reveal 
their nourished and terrific strength. This plain and 
honest dealing is infinitely preferable to a heartless 
hypocrisy of manner ; it relieves all around from 
those disquieting suspicions which duplicity never 
fails to excite ; and where it is united with a gene- 
rous disposition, a well informed mind, and a digni- 
fied demeanor, cannot fail to secure affection and 
respect. 

As my opinions will undoubtedly, hereafter, be 
quoted as fundamental law on all questions affecting 
the interests and ettiquette of the service, there is 
another subject on which I must be for the present 
discreetly reserved ; — this involves the expediency 
and propriety of permitting us to take out our ladies 
on board our public ships. It will appear, as I am 
aware, ungallant to hesitate over an immediate and 
unqualified approbation of this license, but as my 
decision is to strike through all future usage in the 



THE LADIES. 19 

service, and as its condemnatory features might be 
ascribed to the fact of my not having any one to 
take out, were the privilege granted, I shall withhold 
it till events may place it beyond the reach of such 
a cynical construction. 

Yet, could any one disposed to arraign this mea- 
sure, have seen the quantity of letters that went back 
by the return boat of the pilot, and above all, could he 
have glanced into the contents of those epistles, and 
marked the tears and passionate fervors that min- 
gled there, like rain and lightning in a summer's 
cloud, he would have exclaimed in relenting tender- 
ness, let the cherished beings of their bosom go with 
them ! separate not, by a wide ocean, hearts so in- 
tensely united, — beings so entirely formed for one 
hearth and home ! Even Jack sent back the evi- 
dence of his truth ; his scarcely legible scrawl may 
have given a fresh and bleeding life to affections, 
not the less deep on account of a simple, rude exte- 
rior. The vigor of the bow depends not on the 
beauty of its polish. 

There is another subject upon which I must be 
a little reserved ; — this touches the character of my 
immediate companions, the officers of the ward- 
room. We present, perhaps, in our assembled capa- 
city, as great a variety of intellectual, moral and 
social habit, as any group of the same size, ever yet 
convened on flood or field. There is no shape, 
which thought, feeling, or association ever assumed. 



20 WARD-ROOM OFFICERS. 

that may not here find a ready, unbroken mould. 
We have every thing from the silent operations of a 
mind that expresses its action only in its priceless 
gifts, to the tumultuous agonies of an imagination 
that raises a tornado to rock a rose bud, and rolls 
the globe over to crush a flea. We have the officer 
who walks the deck as if he were to be heard in 
whispers and obeyed in silence, and the one that 
gives his slightest order in a trumpet voice that might 
almost endanger the sleep of the dead. We have the 
ever cheerful and contented being, who would talk 
encouragingly on a famishing wreck, and the inve- 
terate complainer, who would grumble amid the 
mellow profusions of a paradise. We have the man 
of method who sleeps, dreams, and wakes by rule, 
and the unsystematized being who would lose, were it 
possible, his conscious identity ; and who will pro- 
bably be found at the great resurrection coming out 
of the grave of some other person. 

We have a caterer who would purchase an ox 
for the sake of a sirloin, and a steward who would 
purchase an egg, were it possible, without the ex- 
pense of the shell. We have a sailing-master who 
is seldom wrong when he conjectures, and as rarely 
right when he calculates; we have a commissary 
who would shoulder an atlas of real responsibility, 
and protest against an ant-hill of petty inconve- 
nience; we have a surgeon who would kneel in 
worship of the beauty, harmony, and matchless 



Midshipmen. 21 

grace of the human form, and then dissect a Cythe- 
ran venus to trace the path of an imaginary muscle; 
we have a marine officer full of professional pride 
and ability, but whose troops have never been 
paralleled since Jack Falstaff mustered his men ; 
we have a chaplain who vehemently urges us on 
like an invading army towards heaven, but stays 
behind himself, as he says, to pick up the stragglers ; 
and we have over all a commander who inspires 
the humblest with self-respect, but reinstates the 
absolute principles of the old school on the levelling 
doctrines of the new. 

Our incongruities do not stop here. We have 
in our steerage light hearted lads, unacquainted 
with a single rope in the ship, never perhaps from 
home, certainly never at sea before, and who are 
now giving orders to old weather-beaten mariners, 
who have ploughed every ocean known to the 
globe. I pen this not in disparagement of these in- 
experienced youth ; for they have a quick play of 
intelligence and a freedom from vicious habit that 
justly entitles them to esteem and affection. May 
they be able to preserve the " whiteness of the soul" 
untouched by the evils that await them, and revisit 
their sacred homes still worthy of a mother's fond- 
ness and a father's pride. The tendency of early 
lessons of wisdom and piety, with the incipient 
habits of childhood may at times be diverted and 
driven from their course, but they generally recover 



22 TRAITS OP THE SAILOR. 

again their original channels. If there be any se- 
curity in after years against a wide departure from 
virtue, it is found in the early instructions of an 
anxious, devoted mother. The course of the arrow- 
is decided by the bow she holds in her hands. 

Our ship is a frigate of the second class, of light, 
compact and graceful architecture; she cuts her 
way through the water as smoothly and silently as 
the dolphin. Our crew are more youthful, more 
full of health and vigor, than are usually met with 
on the deck of a man-of-war. They are remarka- 
bly young, as years are reckoned on land, but the 
life of a sailor usually stops far short of that period 
commonly allotted to man. His occupation and 
habits shake his life-glass and hurry out its sands. 
I never see one of them die without those feelings 
we experience in seeing a noble being extingushed 
before his time. He has points of character that 
penetrate to your deepest sensibilities. You see 
him dividing his last shilling with a pennyless 
stranger, — perilling his life for one who may perhaps 
never appreciate the self-sacrificing act, — living to- 
day in gay forgetfulness of the evils which the mor- 
row must bring, — undergoing hardship, privation 
and suffering with an unclouded cheerfulness, — and 
when death comes, resigning himself to its calamity 
with a composure that belongs more to philosophy 
and religion than the characteristics of his rude life. 
If any being full of errors, generous impulses, and 



SUNSET. 23 

broken resolves, may hope for mercy in his last ac- 
count, it must be the poor sailor, — the being whom 
temptation and suffering have visited in every form, 
whose scanty enjoyments have been snatched from 
the severest lot, and whose wild profession has 
placed him essentially beyond the reach of those re- 
deeming influences, to which every Christian com- 
munity is indebted for its virtue and its hope of 
heaven. 

I have been on deck at the close of every clear 
day to see the sun go down. This is a beautiful sight 
on shore, but more so at sea ; for here the glowing 
orb appears divested of that excessive brightness, 
which on land frequently dazzles and pains the 
naked eye of the beholder. He seems to partake of 
that solemnity which is felt through nature at his 
disappearance. The clouds which attended him 
through the day in glittering attire, now assume a 
more sober aspect, and put on a dress of deeper 
richness, their full and flowing folds have a ground- 
work of purple and gold, and as they float together, 
they rear over this retiring monarch of the sky a 
pavilion, compared with the magnificence of which, 
the splendors of the oriental couch are but the tinsel, 
which gilds the cradled sleep of the nursery. 
When the last ray that lingered above the wave 
has vanished, and twilight is gone, the deep blue 
vault of heaven seems to sweep down to the level 
waters, and shut out all life, and breath, and motion, 



24 DEATH, 

beyond its incumbent circle. It is then you feel 
alone — earth with its ceaseless stir and countless 
voices is shut out, — there is nothing around, beneath, 
above, but the sflent sky and the sleeping ocean. 
A man who can stand in such a breathless solitude 
as this, and not think with warm veneration of 
Him, whose benevolent eye notices the fall of the 
lonely sparrow, must carry within him a heart as 
cold and insensible as the marbles of the dead. 

This observation was made to one who stood 
near me, and whose fine susceptibilities were more 
deeply touched than my own. To her this twilight 
change, and desert ocean, seemed to call up memo- 
ries in which the heart lingers with a bewildering 
fondness. She has exchanged the security of the 
shore and the society of the most gentle and refined 
for the perils and hard features of a man-of-war. 
Her feelings, as they break through her conversa- 
tion, betray a freshness and elevation of tone that 
find their way to your affection and esteem. Culti- 
vated and refined, without being supercilious, — 
cheerful and communicative, without being obtru- 
sive or trifling ; — with mental endowments to enter- 
tain the best informed, and a demeanor conciliating 
the most rude, she must be deservedly popular in 
her new condition, and cannot fail to enhance the 
estimation in which the fair of our country are held 
by foreigners. 

Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it 



FXJNERAL AT SEA. 25 

may— fearful when the vital cords are so gradually 
relaxed, that life passes away softly as music from 
the slumbering harp string— fearful when in his 
own quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned 
by those who sweetly follow him with their prayers, 
when the assiduities of friendship and affection can 
go no further, and who discourse of heaven and 
future blessedness, till the closing ear can no longer 
catch the tones of the long familiar voice, and who, 
lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and 
then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades 
each feature, a quiet emblem of the spirit's serene 
repose. "What then must this dread event be to 
one, who meets it comparatively alone, far away 
from the hearth of his home, upon a troubled sea, 
between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and 
at that dread hour of night, when even the sympa- 
thies of the world seem suspended. Such has been 
the end of many who traverse the ocean, and such 
was the hurried end of him, whose remains we 
have just consigned to a watery grave. 

He was a sailor, but beneath his rude exterior 
he carried a heart, touched with refinement, pride 
and greatness. There was something about him, 
which spoke of better days and a higher destiny ; 
by what errors or misfortunes he was reduced to 
his humble condition, was a secret which he would 
reveal to none. Silent, reserved and thoughtful, 
he stood a stranger among his free companions, 

3 



26 FUNERAL AT SEA. 

and never was his voice heard in the laughter or 
the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many 
who will long look for his return, and bitterly weep 
when they are told they shall see his face no more. 
As the remains of poor Prether were brought 
up on deck, wound in that hammock, which through 
many a stormy night had swung to the wind, one 
could not but observe the big tear that stole uncon- 
sciously down the rough cheek of his hardy com- 
panions. When the funeral service was read to 
that most affecting passage — " we commit this body 
to the deep," — and the plank was heaved, which 
precipitated to the momentary eddy of the wave the 
quickly disappearing form, a heaving sigh from 
those around told that the strong heart of the sailor 
can be touched with grief, and that a truly unaf- 
fected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most 
unpretending form, to the extinguishing night of 
the grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten ! 

" As from the wing, the sky no scar retains, 
The parted wave, no furrow from the keel, 
So dies in human hearts, the thought of death." 

There is something peculiarly melancholy and 
impressive in a burial at sea; — there is here no 
coffin or hearse, procession or tolling bell, — nothing 
that gradually prepares us for the final separation. 
The body is wound in the drapery of its couch, 
much as if the deceased were only in a quiet and 
temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming 



GRAVE IN THE DEEP. 27 

slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters 
close over it, the vessel passes quickly on, and not a 
solitary trace is left to tell where sunk from light 
and life one that loved to look at the sky and breathe 
this vital air. There is nothing that for one moment 
can point to the deep, unvisited resting place of the 
departed, — it is a grave in the midst of the ocean — 
in the midst of a vast untrodden solitude ; — affec- 
tion cannot approach it with its tears, the dews of 
heaven cannot reach it, and there is around it no 
violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream. 

It may be superstitious, but no advantages of 
wealth, or honor, or power, through life, would 
reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I would 
rather share the coarse and scanty provisions of 
the simplest cabin, and drop away unknown and 
unhonored by the world, so that my final resting 
place be beneath some green tree, by the side of 
some living stream, or in some familiar spot where 
the few that loved me in life might visit me in 
death. But whether our grave be in the fragrant 
shade, or in the fathomless ocean, among our kin- 
dred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is coming 
when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and 
receive from a righteous Judge the award of our 
deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates the future the 
deepest. 

The day passed slowly and sadly away; — no 
sail broke the fartherest verge of the horizon, — no 



28 A BIRD. 

passing cloud brought with it the incense of an 
unseen shore; — but at night-fall a little bird was 
seen hovering in wide circles around our ship. It 
had been driven out to sea in a storm, or had wan- 
dered in its careless mirth too far from its native 
isle j it was unable to retrace its way, too timid to 
light, and too exhausted to keep much longer on 
the wing. 

Lonely wand'rer o'er the ocean, 
Fainting for a place of rest, — 
Can'st no longer keep in motion, 
Durst not trust the billow's breast ;— 

Feeling fast thy strength diminish, 
Yet canst spy no friendly shore, 
And must sink, e'er thou canst finish 
One returning circle more ; — 

Rest thee here — I'll softly pillow 
Thy too faint and feeble form, — 
Bear thee safely o'er the billow, 
Through this night of cloud and storm. 



CHAPTER II. 

First sight of Land—Peak of Pico — Terceira— City of Angra— Visit 
to the shore — Appearance of the Inhabitants — Cathedral — Vespers 
—Convent— Nuns— Gardens— Singular Monument— Shaving the 
Hog— A Gale. 

There is one short exclamation in our lan- 
guage which conveys to the heart of one at sea a 
more thrilling excitement, than the highest raptures 
of poetic inspiration. It has no meaning to a man 
who plods out his days on the uneventful earth, but 
to one who moves from zone to zone upon the 
" blue wave/' and has many days since parted with 
the shore, it comes like a glad message from another 
world : " land, ho !" I heard it this morning from 
mast-head just at the break of day, and sprung upon 
deck, with eye never so quickly cleared to catch a 
sight of what it conveyed ; but I could see nothing 
except a heavy bank of clouds over our larboard 
bow. " Don't you see," said the old cruiser who 
stood near me, " that bit of a dark spot there, bobbing 
up like a buoy out of water — there, now its gone, 
but keep it in your eye, and you'll see it again in a 
minute, just under the stern of that scudding cloud." 
So I fixed my eye on the cloud, which the fancy of 
the old seaman had converted into a well rigged 
3* 



30 pico. 

ship, which had just obtruded its dusky sides between 
us and that dark spot against the sky, but I was 
still uncertain at what precise point upon the hull 
to look, not being able to distinguish the stern from 
the stem in this aerial craft. " There, there sir, it 
comes again/' whispered the sharp eyed tar. " At 
which end of the cloud ?" I inquired impatiently. 
" At her stern, sir, at her stern, close under her 
spanker boom," was the technical reply, which be- 
trayed a much better knowledge of nautical phrases 
than of an intelligible relationship between an 
obscuring cloud, and a sharp, elevated point of 
land. 

This "dark spot" on the sky, of a towering 
sugar-loaf shape, and distinguishable in this respect 
only, from the thick and motionless mass of clouds 
which lay beneath it, proved to be the Peak of Pico, 
rising abruptly some seven thousand feet above the 
level of the sea, and which may be seen in clear 
weather at a distance of eighty miles. We were 
so near it, that two hours sail brought into beau- 
tiful relief, upon the sides of its green acclivities, 
the white cottages of its inhabitants. I longed to 
leap upon its shore, and mount its steep cliffs, but 
we were sailing for Terceira; so adieu to Pico, to its 
vine clad hills, and its volcanic Peak, beneath which 
the rainbow and thunder cloud dwell in strange 
concord. 

A fair and fresh breeze, soon brought us in sight 



TERCEIRA. 31 

of the bold and lofty rocks, which wall the circular 
shores of Terceira — furnishing its quiet inhabitants 
a defence, which may excuse in them their want 
of that chivalrous valor, which exposure and danger 
inspire. Beneath the steep battlements, which na- 
ture has reared along the breaker-beaten coast of 
this island, a thousand hostile fleets might exhaust 
their malice in vain ; the iron storm of their bat- 
teries would make as little impression, as the bubbles 
of a muttering wave. Upon the south side, this 
natural wall bends inward, affording a small har- 
bor, of deep bottom and unsafe anchorage. At the 
foot of a mountain, which here freshly descends to 
the bright water, stands the neat city of Angra, the 
capital of the island. We swung around into this 
inlet and let go our anchor, to the pleasurable sur- 
prise of many, who from their turrets and balconies 
were scanning our flag, and recognizing in it a 
long absent friend. The blue and white banner, 
which floated from a small armed ship, and the two 
fortifications, which defend the harbor, told us 
that Donna Maria was the infant Queen of this 
romantic isle. 

The necessities of an impatient dinner over, we 
hastened to the shore, where we met our quasi Con- 
sul, who politely offered us his attentions in any form 
that might be most agreeable. As we had but a 
few hours to stay, we declined the hospitalities of 
his hearth, preferring a ramble through the princi- 



32 ANGRA. 

pal streets, and a hasty look at the strange aspect 
every thing wore. Under his guidance we passed 
from street to street, meeting every where new 
fledged soldiers and little groups of citizens, who 
had been brought together by the sudden appear- 
ance of our ship. 

The bells were chiming for vespers, and we 
turned into the Cathedral — a building of huge 
dimensions, in the Gothic style. We found here 
about forty priests, or friars, and as many boys, who 
had the gift of music in them, sustaining the chant 
and occasionally breaking out with great animation 
in the chorus. When I inquired of our polite 
guide for the audience — the worshipping multitude 
that might here be accommodated, he pointed to 
one poor publican kneeling in the centre of the vast 
area, and observed, the people here do not attend 
vespers. What a worship I was about to exclaim 
is this ! — whether paid to God, or saint, or sinner. 
Why, the little brook, as it murmurs its vesper 
hymn in the ear of nature, has at least a lonely pil- 
grim or bird on its brink, to listen to its harmony, 
and catch the spirit of its homage. But here is a 
magnificent temple with its sweeping aisles, per- 
fumed altars, white robed priests, and melodious 
choir, all consecrated to the worship of the most 
High and the sacred edification of man — and only 
one poor penitent of the thousands, whose sins or 
gratitude should bring them here, is seen to come 



PRIEST. 33 

and kneel. Surely there must be "rottenness in 
Denmark." 

Breaking from this partial reverie, I joined our 
company at the extreme end of the aisle, where our 
guide was leading the way to some recess, or shrine, 
with an air of peculiar awe — it was the sanctum 
sanctorum of the place, and we paused upon its hal* 
lowed threshold. Three large wax candles were 
burning within, and before these a venerable priest 
was walking, as one, that meditates alone. The 
solitary prelate instantly invited us in, and seemed 
to excuse our not crossing ourselves to the sacred 
pictures which hung upon the walls. This conse- 
crated cloister was distinguished for the sober rich- 
ness of its furniture, its silent solemnity, and the 
multiplicity of images, which cast upon us from 
every quarter, their looks of penitence and celestial 
hope. Around the embroidered curtain, which en- 
closed the Host, bloomed several vases of fresh 
flowers ; the priest from one of them, as we retired, 

plucked a rich carnation and gave it to Mrs. R 

with the most graceful inclination that I ever saw 
in a man of his years. There was something in 
the manner of his presenting this beautiful flower, 
which made one for the moment forget that we can 
ever grow old. The rose was a delicate compli- 
ment, and will be cherished by her to whom it was 
given, long after the perfume has passed from its 
withered leaf, and long after the thin pale hand 



34 CONVENT. 

which tendered it shall have forgotten its kindly 
office. 

From the Cathedral we wandered into a street, 
leading past a favorite convent, beneath the high 
walls of which, scarcely a blade of grass was seen 
to shoot. On enquiring the cause of the sterile 
and trodden aspect of the ground, we were inform- 
ed that the young men of the city were in the habit 
of frequenting that place, hoping to catch an an- 
swering glance, or word, from the truant nuns 
within. The windows had balconies, in which 
were placed various pots of flowers, the care of 
which afforded the veiled inmates, a pretext for 
visiting the light, but while hovering over their 
cherished plants, their eyes it seems are wont to 
meet those of some romantic Romeo below, — and 
then a devoted word goes up, and another, with 
some sweet flower, comes down ; — and now and 
then, the gentle Juliet comes down herself — not to 
descend into a tomb, but to make a heart happy, 
that has turned away from the gay saloon to the 
pensive convent. 

I like these romantic touches in human life; 
they are green spots in a desert. I know not 
what His Holiness the Pope, or the Lady Abbess 
might say to such a charmed elopement of one of 
their nuns, but sure I am that if I am ever con- 
cerned in what is coarsely termed a run-away 
match, the object of my pious plunder shall be 



GARDEN. 35 

some brilliant being, suffering an involuntary con- 
finement in one of these living graves. Nor am I 
without an encouraging example : a Captain in the 
British Navy recently ran away with one from a 
convent in Teneriffe, and found in her all, 

"Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall." 

The next object that arrested our steps was an 
extensive and neatly arranged garden, connected 
with an herb-growing monastery, and which, as our 
conductor informed us, was rather a flattering spe- 
cimen of the horticulture of the island. In the 
midst of plats, upon whose varied bosom the rose 
and geranium were intertwined, appeared most of 
the tropical fruits and plants in vigorous growth. 
To one who has been many days at sea, living on 
hard bread and salt meat, the slightest vegetable, 
even a head of lettuce, appears a tempting luxury ; 
but an inaccessible orange or bannana is like the 
stream which mocked the parched lips of poor 
Tantalus. But we left this ample garden, so full of 
vegetable life, with all its budding sweets, untouched 
and untasted ; not a flower was plucked, or a leaf 
disturbed in its green quietude. Though sorely 
tempted, we kept this once the eighth command- 
ment. 

After strolling through several more of the 
streets, we found ourselves in a public square, upon 
rather a confined scale, in the centre of which stood 



36 MONUMENT. 

a somewhat singular monument. It was con- 
structed of a species of calcarious stone, of dark hue 
and compact texture, and consisted of an elevated 
quadrangular pedestal, upon which rose a cylindri- 
cal column, bearing a capital with a device which 
no one could trace to any definite order of archi- 
tecture, or particular school of sculpture. The 
whole betrayed the wasting effects of time, though 
the outline had been preserved quite entire. One 
of our company having a great fondness for anti- 
quities, immediately commenced transcribing a half 
obliterated inscription upon its base, others descant- 
ed on the beauty and harmony of its proportions ; 
the rest of us wandered back in thought, through 
the depth of centuries, to the virtues of those whose 
achievements were here rendered immortal. Our 
conductor, who had been detained by some company 
we had met on the way, now joined us ; and observ- 
ing the rapt air in which each stood, and the anti- 
quary with his busy pencil, remarked that the time 
worn object of our contemplative wonder was a — 
pillory. O, what a sickness of the heart came over 
us, at the sound of that word ; — romance, a love of 
the marvelous, self-complacency, all died within us, 
as we blushingly turned away from this only monu- 
ment which we met with in Angra. Our mortified 
vanity, however, was soon exhilaratingly revived, 
by a glass of native wine, and a cup of excellent 
coffee, at the house of our Consul. 



STREETS. 37 

The streets of Angra, though narrow, are un- 
commonly clean for a Portuguese city. The houses 
are generally of two stories, and have many of 
them balconies, screened by vines and trellis work, 
which, without excluding the air, affords a green 
protection to the black-eyed beauty as she catches 
a glimpse of the moving crowd below. The appa- 
rel of the poorer classes is clean, but it is obvious 
that the needle has in many cases been put in 
extensive requisition to repair the rents of time. 
The costume of the better conditioned circles, 
though not glaringly gaudy, is rather showy than 
rich. There is very little about the place, indica- 
tive of wealth or earnest enterprise. It must have 
paused for many years in the march of improve- 
ment. This is owing to the unsettled state of its poli- 
tical relations, its frequent revolutions, the rapacity 
and poverty of its successive masters. Even the 
bells of some of the churches have been taken down 
and coined. There are men, who, if they could 
get there, would pick out and peddle the gems 
which glow in the pavements of heaven. 

The wines of this island are inferior to those of 
the Canaries ; and the birds less musical, but the 
lands are abundantly productive of grain, pasturage 
and fruits. Little attention, however, is paid to 
flocks and herds, unless the treatment which the 
hog receives be considered an exception. This 
coarse animal, which of late has become among us 

4 



38 SHAVING A HOG. 

little more than a strong political metaphor, is here 
remarkable for his anti-Jew characteristics ; he is 
not only obnoxious to this class of people, from his 
very nature, but this antipathy is enhanced by the 
instrumentality of the razor, applied, it is true, not 
to his face — only his back. This is done not out of 
disrespect to those who have repudiated this humble 
quadruped, but for the sake of giving him a greater 
breadth of beam. Whether this is really the effect 
or a mere conceit, I did not particularly inquire. I 
ask pardon for introducing here, this unseemly 
emblem of the spirit of our party devotedness; — 
though Byron in his masterly letter to Bowles, con- 
tends, that if pure, unsophisticated nature be the 
highest theme of the muse, then the most poetical 
object in the world must be — " a hog in a high wind." 
At a little before sun-set, we returned on board, 
for the sky had already begun to assume an omi- 
nous change, when orders were immediately given 
to get underway. We had no sooner weighed an- 
chor — leaving our fluke among the ragged rocks of 
its bed — and made sail, than night set in with an 
aspect of terrific gloom. The wind which had been 
blowing fresh during the afternoon, now came with 
the violence of a gale ; — the clouds which had hung 
around us at twilight, in huge black masses, sudden- 
ly heaved their distended forms over the heavens 
and increased in density and darkness, till they shut 
out its last struggling ray ;— of the sea, which began 



GALE. 39 

to speak to us in the shock and terror of its resistless 
motion, nothing was seen but the fitful light, which 
occasionally flashed from the crest of a plunging 
wave. In this world of wild convulsion and impen- 
etrable night, through which the sheeted dead and 
a shaking earthquake might have passed unperceiv- 
ed, our ship sustained herself with singular steadi- 
ness and resolution. With her magnificent wings 
furled, and her loftier spars taken down, she resem- 
bled the battling hero, remaining firm, with his 
plume and helmet swept away, and his sword bro- 
ken at the hilt. At midnight the gale began to sub- 
side, and at break of day there was little evidence 
left of its fearful energy, except the heavy sea it had 
raised, and the dismantled condition of our noble ship. 
In the course of the day, a sad memorial of its 
violence drove past us in the shape of a wreck. It 
was pursued by huge waves, that broke over it 
with an exulting fierceness, and savage glee. Her 
masts had been swept by the board, — her helm car- 
ried away, — her gunwale broken down, — not a liv- 
ing being remained, or even a breathless corse to tell 
who there wept, prayed, and despaired ! This is 
only a type of that universal wreck that is coming 
on : for 

This mighty globe, with all its stretching sail 
And pennants set, is speeding wildly fast, 
To that dim coast, where thunder-cloud and gale 
Will rend the shroud, and bow the lofty mast 

Then, with its helm and spars, and strong deck broken, 

'Twill be as poor a wreck as e'er was spoken. 



40 



GALE. 



No beacon there will cast its cheering ray 
To show the mariner the welcome shore ; 
No friendly star come forth, just as the day 
Darkens above, the ceaseless breakers roar y 

No pump be found, with valve and vacuum in itj. 

To keep this ship afloat another minute. 

And so 'twill sink amid the tide of time, 
And leave no relic on the closing wave, 
Except the annals of its grief and crime. 
The pitying heaven will weep above its grave> 

And universal nature softly rear, 

A dewy urn, to this departed sphere. 



CHAPTER III. 

Madeira— First Appearance— Effect of Sunset— Ride into the Inte- 
rior — Ponies — Burroqueros — Deep Ravines — Peasantry — A Ma- 
deiran Beauty — An English Lady — Dinner and Dancing. 

As the white clouds, which hung this morning 
like a widely distended veil over our weather-bow, 
were occasionally ruffled by the breeze, we caught 
momentary glimpses of the lofty and varied out-line 
of the heights of Madeira. Here a steep cliff pre- 
sented its wild features, there the green side of some 
hill smiled forth, while upon gentler elevations 
appeared the white dwellings of the inhabitants, in 
beautiful contrast with the deep verdure in which 
they were embowered. — Upon the beach foamed the 
successive wave, or cast its white crest high up the 
jutting rock. The whole appeared the work of en- 
chantment — a mere illusion sent to please and 
mock the senses ; and this impression was almost 
confirmed, as the spreading folds of the floating 
clouds, again snatched every vestige of the entire 
scene from our fixed eyes. Had death come upon 
me at that moment, I should have departed with a 
full belief in the mystery and power, which fancy or 
superstition has ascribed to those fairy agents, who 
dwell in subtle essence, and work their marvels upon 

4* 



42 MADEIRA. 

the palpitating experience of man. But a springing 
breeze unveiled again the hidden object of our curi- 
osity, and brought us at length so near it, that it 
appeared before us in all its unrivalled wildness 
and beauty. Could I see but one island, in its pro- 
gressive development from the obscurity of cloud, 
and sky, and wave — it should be Madeira. There 
is no isle, even under the glittering skies of the West- 
Indies, that has such an enchanting effect as this, — 
none that seems so completely a thing of light, 
laughter and beauty. 

As we floated into its open roadstead, we passed 
an English frigate lying at anchor, which saluted us 
with a < Hail Columbia/ — a compliment which our 
bsCnd returned with a badly played, < God save the 
King.' — Our anchor was now let go, — our sails 
clewed down, and a boat lowered for the shore. I 
remained on board, to witness the effect of the set- 
ting sun upon the scene before us. Twilight here 
is of short duration, but atones for its brevity by its 
richness. 

The city of Funchal, before which we were 
riding at anchor, stands against a green amphithe- 
atre of hills, which rapidly ascend to an elevation of 
three thousand feet. These steeps are crowned with 
pinnacles, which shoot up wild and high, and which 
are burning with living splendor, after the advanc- 
ing twilight has cast its purple shadows over the 
hushed dwellings beneath. The contrast of these 



SUNSET. 43 

flaming turrets, with the dim and dark aspect of 
that which slumbers in sunless depths below, pro- 
duces an effect which can never be described, and 
which would only be feebly mimicked, by setting 
the towering bastions of some hugely walled city, 
in flames while silence and night reigned through its 
untrodden streets. How triumphant is nature, both 
in her magnificent and minor forms, over the proud 
pretensions of man ! — The cliff which sunset kindles, 
and the violet which the dew-drop gilds, alike 
baffle his art and mock his vanity. 

In the morning we took a boat for the shore, for 
the purpose of riding into the interior of the Island. 
We were met at the landing by Mr. Perigal, our 
Vice Consul, who had politely provided Mrs. R. 
with a palankeen, in which she was carried by two 
broad shouldered men, to the Consular mansion. 
As for the rest of us, the question was not, how we 
should obtain the means of conveyance, but how we 
should manage to mount one saddle, instead of two 
or three .; for we were surrounded by thirty or forty 
Burroqueros, leading their donkies into our very 
faces, and vociferating " this one, this one, this one," 
with an earnestness and impatience, which rendered 
all choice impossible. Indeed we were glad to jump 
upon any thing to escape from such a snarl of ani- 
mals, and importunate drivers. 

In a moment we were mounted, and rushing 
through the city, with a Burroquero holding on 



44 BURROQTJEROS. 

with one hand to the tail of his poney, and with 
the other belaboring his limbs with a long stiff 
wand. We brought up at the door of the Consul, 
where we halted for a few minutes, till Mrs. R. 
could mount her poney, and then started off, full 
gallop, for the interior. The clatter of hoofs which 
we left behind, brought to the window many an eye, 
whose look came too late. Echo and wonder only 
remained, with dust, distance, and laughter. John 
Gilpin's race with all its involuntary speed was 
gravity, compared with our ludicrous appearance : 
it was enough to shake the powder from the wig 
of a Chief Justice. 

I found myself bestriding a poney about as large 
as one of farmer Darby's black sheep ; but as sure 
of foot as any fox that ever jumped ; yet in the gal- 
lop, his fore and hind quarters went up in such quick 
alternations, that the most rapid vibrations of the 
body were necessary to preserve the even balance, 
and keep one from falling over the stem or stern of 
this tossing craft. I thought after all, the animal 
was more to be pitied than his rider ; and when we 
had been on the tilt about two hours and come to the 
foot of another long and steep ascent, I dismounted 
to the no small amusement of the driver, who, it 
would seem, much better understood the ability of 
the little hardy fellow, than myself. 

At the top of this arduous ascent, we found our- 
selves suddenly recoiling from the crumbling verge 



PONIES. 45 

of a ravine, that dropped down in nearly a perpen- 
dicular descent, two thousand feet. As we disco- 
vered no road leading away from this perilous posi- 
tion, except that by which we had come, we conclu- 
ded, of course, that this was the neplus ultra of our 
ride. But crack went the huge sticks of the drivers 
against our donkeys, and away they sprang up an ex- 
tremely narrow ledge of rocks, that beatled out over 
this frightful abyss. There was no stopping them, for 
a concussion of the animals against each other would 
have precipitated the whole of us to the bottom. 
Go on we must, but whether for good or ill, for 
gratification or broken bones, we could not tell. 
Nothing but the instinct of our steeds saved us ; they 
balanced along with well poised frame, when their 
riders would have lost their footing, and with a spin- 
ning brain come toppling down. 

Another hour of this hair-breadth riding, brought 
us to the Curral — the main object of our adventure. 
This is a little fertile valley sunk into the heart of 
the island, surrounded by a wall of natural rock, 
rising to a height of twenty-five hundred feet. Upon 
the verge of this wall we now stood ; but every ob- 
ject below was buried beneath masses of cloud; 
nothing could be seen ; nothing heard, except the 
tones of a church bell, as they struggled up through 
this heavy sea of vapor. The wild cliffs and pinna- 
cles, which still towered far above us, shone conspi- 
cuously in the light, and their sunny aspect served to 



46 RAVINES. 

deepen the gloom which rested upon the un pierced 
depths below. There was light, and beauty, and 
resplendent grandeur above ; but below, brooded 
a night, upon which the quick rays of the sun fell 
at once quenched and powerless. 

After partaking of a very welcome lunch, and 
some excellent wine, which Mr.' Perrigal had hospi- 
tably provided for the occasion, we started on our 
return, fully determined, if we should get back with- 
out any serious accident, to make another excursion 
to this inland wonder. I never left a place with 
greater reluctance, or a deeper conviction of the 
power of man's curiosity. 

On our return, we frequently overtook, as we 
had encountered in coming out, many of the peas- 
antry, bearing their burthens of fuel to market. 
This essential article consists here, principally of the 
fern, and the roots of the broom. It is borne from 
the interior upon the head ; we met women with 
large bundles of it in this position. This indeed is 
the only mode in which it can be transported. The 
paths in many places are notched into the steep 
face of a mountain, and are so extremely narrow, 
as to afford a passage for little more than the per- 
son of the individual. The burthen is therefore 
done up like a sheaf, and placed on the head in a 
line with the path. With one hand, the patient 
bearer steadies her load, and with the other, by the 
help of a pointed cane, she steadies herself. When 



PEASANTRY. 47 

two encounter each other with their loads, one of 
the parties looks out for a jutting cliff, or a deeper 
nitch, where she stands till the other has passed. 
It was only in this mode that we were able to get 
along with our ponies. In this form the city of 
Funchal is mainly supplied with fuel ; — fortunately 
the climate is habitually so very mild, that little is 
required, except for culinary purposes. 

I never had such a feeling of sinking sadness, 
as when I saw these females, with these enormous 
burthens upon their heads. There was something 
in their condition so strangely at variance with the 
delicacy and tenderness, which are usually the 
pride and privilege of their sex ; when I observed, 
too, the unmurmuring patience and cheerful resolu- 
tion with which they perform the incredible task, 
I could have stopped and wept. Had I possessed a 
key to the mines of Peru, I could have cast it at 
their feet. They carry these wearisome loads, 
from many miles in the interior, through the most 
rough and perilous passes, to the city, where they 
are obliged to part with them for a few farthings, 
and then start at night-fall, faint, and perhaps unat- 
tended, for their cabin in the mountains. The 
self-adapting disposition of woman, the uncomplain- 
ing trust with which she submits to reverses of for- 
tune, and the hope and cheerfulness with which she 
strives to inspire others, while her own heart may 
be desolate, are high and affecting attributes which 



48 DINNER. 

belong only to her. She is essentially the same in 
the cottage and palace, at the couch of pain and the 
hall of festivity, in all that constitutes her highest 
excellence, and man's chief happiness. 

But I am wandering from the thread— not of 
my discourse — but of our return from the Curral. 
We arrived at the Consul's quite late in the after- 
noon, and sat down to a sumptuously furnished 
table, where we met several agreeable ladies and gen- 
tlemen of the island. The dinner passed off with 
many good feelings, and amiable sentiments lit up 
with many kindling recollections of home. I saw, 
neither on this occasion, nor any other while in the 
island excessive drinking, even in the pure and harm- 
less juice of the grape. There was no ardent spirits of 
any kind upon the table, nor any lurking upon the 
side-board, to tempt the lips of the unwary guest. 

When the table broke up, we found in the 
ample mansion every facility for disposing of our- 
selves as our different tastes and dispositions 
suggested. Some took the cigar, and talked of 
politics ; some amused themselves in the garden, 
among its fruits and flowers ; and others, like 
myself, took a siesta, — that dreamy quietude 
in which weariness forgets its exhaustion, and 
the spirits rally for fresh action. I always had a 
great respect for sleep, and a deep love of dreams ; — 
the first is the most innocent occupation in which 
we engage ; — the last, the most sweet and beautiful. 



A MADEIRAN BEAUTY 49 

The evening presented us with a brilliant circle 
of ladies. The most striking feature in a Madeiran 
beauty is her eyes; these are usually full black 
and floating ; and shaded with a long silken lash, 
from beneath which the kindling ray flies with an 
electrical effect. You would hardly think that an 
eye, which verges so close upon the melancholy in 
its general expression, and around which a living 
languor seems to sleep, could contain such vivify- 
ing power. The outline of her face perhaps 
approaches the circle too closely for depth of senti- 
ment, but for an exhibition of cheerfulness, it could 
hardly be improved. The contour of her person 
has also too much fullness to appear in perfect con- 
sonance with the most pliant and airy motion ; 
but this is gently relieved by a foot that needs no 
compression to give her carriage a light and airy 
cast. Her complexion is a shade darker than the 
brunettes of our clime, yet equally transparent ; her 
locks are long, and black as the raven's wing ; and 
when she speaks, it is not simply with her lips, — 
her whole countenance is lighted up and eloquent. 

Among the English ladies, there was a Miss 

E s, whose winning sweetness of conversation 

and demeanor, came upon one like a soft mysteri- 
ous charm. It was merely nature speaking and 
acting without affectation and without disguise. 
There was no effort, no ambition, and not the 
slightest indication that she was even aware of the 
5 



50 AN ENGLISH LADY. 

interest she inspired. Indeed there was a delicacy 
and half- retiring diffidence about her, that would 
have shrunk from an idea of the attraction which 
encircled her. The pretensions of dress and the 
show of studied airs utterly faded under her man- 
ner. Her thoughts and language seemed to come 
forth unwrought and spontaneous from their pure 
fount, yet they beamed with beauty and native 
intelligence. I never met with but one lady before, 
in whom nature appeared so unmingled and sweetly 

triumphant. That lady was Mrs. G., of W , 

whom I shall never cease to remember, till all that 
is amiable and excellent in woman has ceased to 
affect me. 

The evening passed off in music, scattered con- 
versation and dancing. As for the first — I was a 
delighted listener — the more so, as there was one 
voice breathing most melodiously there, that had 
come with us over the wide water ; and as for the 
last — I was a mere looker on, though in no surly 
censorious mind. I never could see much sense or 
pleasure in grown people bowing, wriggling, and 
skipping about the floor to the sound of a fiddle- 
string. It may perhaps become that age, when 
we are justly " pleased with a rattle, tickled with a 
straw." — But it is wearing late, and I must leave the 
ladies fruit cake and wine, and return on board 
the Constellation. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Madeira continued — Excursion— Villa of an English Bachelor — 
Tragical death of George Canning — Wild Ravine— Singular 
Water-Fall— Lady of the Mount — Superstition— The dying Mo- 
ther's Request— Star of Bethlehem. 

The cloudless heights of Madeira promising 
this morning a fine day to those who might be dis- 
posed to make an excursion among their wild 
scenes, we started full of glee at a very early hour. 
The ponies which we had taken from the multitude 
that were clamorously urged upon us, were in high 
spirits, and we started at a speed that would have 
left the quickest footman in our country panting and 
puffing in the distance. Not so with the moun- 
tain boy of this isle ; for quick or slow, he is ever 
singing, whistling, and cracking his whip, close at 
the heel of his animal. 

The first place at which we alighted, and to 
which we had been politely favored with an uncere- 
monious invitation, was the Til Villa. This is the 
residence of an English gentleman, situated at a 
small distance from the city, upon the sunny side of 
one of those hills, which slope up so gradually as to 
be capable of cultivation, especially when thrown 



52 GEORGE CANNING. 

off into parapets, as in the present instance. This 
villa is quite in the Italian style ; the grounds are 
laid off with a strict regard to beauty and effect ; and 
though the rigid utilitarian would find but little 
here to applaud, yet the lover of flowers, of the green 
shade, and the sparkling stir of waters, might 
easily be in a rapture. In the centre of the garden 
towers a majestic til, one of the indigenous ever- 
green forest trees of the island, ingens arbos, faci- 
emque similima lauro. This tree has given name 
to the place, though its right so to do, might well 
be questioned by a venerable chestnut standing near, 
and measuring, with its neighbor, over thirty feet in 
circumference. 

This villa derives a melancholy interest as 
having been the scene of the tragical death of 
George Canning, a captain in the British Navy, and 
eldest son of the late distinguished Premier of 
that name. He had come to this villa with a party 
of gentlemen to dine, — had been playing at racket, 
and being somewhat exhausted, had thrown him- 
self, for a moment's repose, upon the sofa, on which 
I am now sitting to sketch this note. But being 
heated, he soon left the apartment, and went, unper- 
ceived by any one, to the pool, a place convenient 
in many respects for bathing. 

When the table was announced, the host looked 
around for the guest, in honor of whom the enter- 
tainment was intended, but he was not in his place. 



BACHELOR. 53 

Inquiry was raised, a search commenced, when 
coming to the pool, they discovered the pale form — 
but the noble spirit — of Canning had fled forever ! 
Tears and lamentations, and the kindly efforts of 
affectionate grief, were unavailing. The hall of 
festivity was wrapt in sorrow, and many a heart 
that came there gay, retired to weep. As died the 
lamented father, so perished here, still more sud- 
denly, the beloved son. Their remains may 
moulder in the untimely grave, but their virtues are 
stamped with immortality. 

The Til Villa begins to wear the aspect of 
neglect and decay. Its proprietor is one of those 
men who tread life's circle alone. This may do 
perhaps through half the round, while the heart 
can look abroad, but then the other half becomes a 
listless solitude. The very objects in which the 
solitary once delighted, and in which, through his 
more salient years, he placed his pride and trust, 
will in age lose their attraction, and disgust him 
with their frivolous memories. There is but one 
object that can perpetually interest and charm the 
heart, — but one that can fill the native void in its 
affections, — but one that can render nature truly 
beautiful and lovely : for Eden itself was but 

-" a wild, 



And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled." 

All this is, perhaps, as much as I can consistently 
gay, committing myself the mistake which I depre- 



54 WATER-FALL. 

cate in others. But I cannot pen here a deeper 
truth, than that an individual vitally consults his 
happiness, honor and wealth, by an early union 
with one, who may perhaps bring to him no 
dower, except her gentle virtues and affections. 

But I forget our ponies, and the distant water- 
fall, to which we were bound. From the til we 
wound up the steep hills, which tower in quick and 
long succession above each other ; but before we had 
reached the object of our curiosity, a part of our 
company were so well satisfied with a scene \Vfe had 
met, that like a wise man looking out for a wife, 
they would go no farther. The object which 
arrested them was a section of the ravine, which in 
its progress to the ocean, intersects the eastern end 
of Funchal ; and which, from the projecting height 
where they were standing, appeared to divide the 
very foundation of the island. In its lowest depth 
sparkled a current, which any miser would have 
taken for a stream of silver. The imagination of a 
believer in a central sphere might have taken this 
mysterious chasm, as the authorized medium of 
communication with his inner world; and his 
fancy would have converted the streamlet, which 
wanders through it, into the narrow and glittering 
outline of its concealed ocean. 

Leaving our charmed companions to wonder 
and speculate at will, Lieut. L. and myself proceed- 
ed for the Water-Fall, After ascending several di£ 



WATER -FALL. 55 

ficult elevations, we arrived at the foot of one, from 
the top of which, our native guide informed us, the 
Fall. might be seen. But how to get there, was now 
the Question ; for the ascent was entirely too steep 
for our ponies, and seemed likely to prove too much 
for our strength. But the force of curiosity and the 
pride of conquest urged us on ; so we dismounted, 
and when an upright posture became impracticable, 
resorted to our hands and knees ; and by catching 
to this stone and that shrub, we at last drew our- 
selves up to the top. The cascade instantly burst 
on our view, — it was a magnificent sight — a large 
sheet of water, falling unbroken three hundred and 
fifty feet. 

From the position which we occupied, it appear- 
ed to burst from the solid side of the mountain; 
there was no warning of its coming — no " note of 
preparation" — nothing that led you to expect the 
splendid exhibition ; it rushed upon you at once, 
unnotified and unprepared ; and when you saw it 
plunge down its terrific way, to the then concealed 
gulf, it was as {{that were the all of its magnificent 
existence. It appeared a miracle in nature — a river 
without a source — a fall without an admonitory 
rapid. The rushing wave of Niagara prepares you 
for the plunging thunder of its might. — It speaks to 
shore and cliff, and echoes the footsteps of its com- 
ing in the caverned rock. You expect its wild leap, 
emd wait with awe the crushing force of its gigantic 



56 SPORTS. 

strength; but this mysterious wonder in the fall 
of waters dashes down, without having awak- 
ened an idea of its existence. It deigns to exhibit 
only its splendid flight — its wings are spread and 
furled unseen. 

Before our return we renewed one of the recrea- 
tions of boyhood, but upon rather an enlarged scale. 
We disengaged, successively a number of rocks, 
weighing several tons, and saw them sweep their 
resistless course to the bottom of the ravine. When 
they reached their shaking bourne, they sent up a 
crash of echoing thunder, that lingered long in sullen 
reverberation among the hills. We hove off 
the very mass upon which we had been incau- 
tiously standing : — it was dashed into a thousand 
fragments upon a projecting ledge, while each 
went indiscoverably beneath, in muttering wrath. 
I thought of the erring spirits, smitten from heaven's 
verge to tartarean night. Bidding the water-fall 
adieu, we returned to our companions, whom we 
found lingering around the very spot where we had 
left them. Nature never tires ; in the magnificent 
or the minute, the severe or subdued, she is an ex- 
haustless source of interest. 

Our descent, which we commenced after partak- 
ing of an excellent lunch, and a short repose, 
brought us into the neighborhood of the Mount 
Church, to which we paid at least the respect of 
curiosity. This edifice is one of the first objects 



OUR LADY. 57 

which attract the eye in approaching the harbor. It 
is situated half-way up the mountain which ascends 
in the rear of the city, and commands an elevation 
of two thousand feet. It is surrounded by a fresh 
chesnut grove, in which you mount to it by sixty 
granite steps. The style of the building is modern, 
and not destitute of architectural pretension. As we 
approached the altar, the priest, who was directing 
our attention to the points of strongest interest, and 
who had hitherto evinced an air of utmost ease and 
playfulness, seemed suddenly impressed with a 
strange reverence. I shall never forget the incom- 
municable solemnity which pervaded his counte- 
nance, as he slowly drew aside the rich curtain that 
hung over the altar-piece, and breathed in a whisper 
— Nossa Senhora do Monte. 

The object of his deep devotion was a little im- 
age of our lady; which resembled in every respect 
a child's doll, only its ornaments and attire were 
more expensive, than are ordinarily thrown away 
upon a toy. A string of beads, in imitation of 
jewels, went round its filleted head, and a number 
of tinsel-stars bespangled its little petticoat. I could 
hardly preserve my gravity of countenance, while 
looking at this Nossa Senhora do Monte. Yet it 
seems she is an object of peculiar veneration and 
homage here ; on her festival day, half the popula- 
tion of the island go in solemn procession to kneel 
at her feet. Those who would be classed among 



58 DYING PLEDGE. 

the most devout; or who may have committed some 
sin of deeper dye, in their earnestness to secure her 
compassionate grace, mount the sixty stone steps, 
which lead to her sanctuary, upon their naked 
knees. 

The following circumstance, which came to me 
from a source too credible to admit of doubt, strik- 
ingly exhibits the spirit in which this sainted lady 
is regarded. A mother, being about to depart this 
life, summoned her daughter to her bedside, and 
told her that in her younger years she had commit- 
ted one unconfessed and unatoned-for offence, and 
that she could not leave the world in peace and with 
a consolatory hope of heaven, till she had given her 
a solemn promise that in expiation of this sin, she 
would on the birth-day of her eighteenth year, at 
twelve o'clock at night, climb the steps of this church 
upon the bare knee. The pledge was given, and 
in a few months from this time, will be redeemed 
with the most religious punctuality. I subsequently 
met the young lady, who is to perform this pain- 
ful penance ; and might perhaps have quoted to her 
the first Commandment, had there been any proba- 
bility of her justly appreciating its awful sanctions. 

Far be it from me however, wantonly to disturb 
the performance of a vow, given even in a spirit of reli- 
gious delusion — or to trifle with a pledge, which may 
have served to console the dying. When that fear- 
ful hour shall become a reality with me, God only 



STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 59 

knows the anxieties it may awaken, or what infinite 
need this trembling spirit may be in of the smallest 
ray, to relieve its gathering doubts and sorrows. 
Yet I would not descend to the grave under the 
light of a false trust — under the guidance of a star 
that is to vanish away in perpetual night. But there 
is one star, that will never disappoint the hope 
which it awakens ; — its ray is never dimmed, and 
it knows no going down ; — its cheering light streams 
on through ages of change and tempest : the earth 
may be darkened, the foundations of nature broken 
up, and the planets shaken from their spheres, but 
this sweet star will still smile from its high and holy 
dwelling. No wonder the Poet of truth and piety 
determined to celebrate 

First in night's diadem, 
The Star, the Star of Bethlehem, 



CHAPTER V. 

Madeira continued— Visit to the Convent of Santa Clara—Introduc- 
tion to a beautiful Nun — Her Involuntary Confinement — Personal 
Attractions— Mental Accomplishments— Proposed Scheme of Es- 
cape. 

I must now introduce the reader to an individ- 
ual who has been for several years an object of deep 
admiration and sympathy among visitors at Ma- 
deira. This person is Donna Maria Clementina, — a 
nun in the Convent of Santa Clara. She was im- 
mured in this prison at the early age of ten, by the 
wicked cruelty of a step-mother ; — her tears and 
prayers were of no avail ; — thirteen long years have 
now passed away, and she still gazes on the dull 
wall of the convent, and sighs for the light and free 
air of heaven. Her situation has been partially re- 
lieved by the interest which her youth and beauty 
have awakened, — the companions of her early years 
have never forgotten her, and now, when inquired 
of for the most beautiful lady of the island, they 
will take you to this convent, and call to its impass- 
able grate, the blushing Maria. 

Another circumstance has cast a momentary 
smile into the solitude of this sweet creature. — 
When the constitutional government was establish- 



HOPES BLIGHTED. 61- 

ed in Portugal, an order was issued by the Cortes, 
that the doors of all religious houses should be un- 
barred. The consequence was, that Santa Clara 
was freely visited by those who had affection or curi- 
osity to be gratified in that form. Among others 
who availed themselves of this privilege, was a 
young and accomplished officer in the Portuguese 
navy. He saw Maria, and felt at once, as every 
one must, the charm of her beauty. She returned 
his affection, with a gentleness and sincerity, which 
showed the delicacy and truth of her heart. She 
was now free from the authority of a cruel parent, 
and of the coerced obligations of the veil : and she 
engaged to receive the hand of the gallant officer, 
whose heart she had so unintentionally won. 

The wedding day was appointed, and she left 
the convent to mingle with her friends a short time, 
before her happy union. But during this interval 
she was taken seriously ill, — the excitement of society 
came with a too sudden power upon one of her 
susceptible nature, — the wedding day was deferred 
— fatally deferred ! — for before its arrival, the con- 
stitutional parliament was forcibly dissolved, the 
liberating act of the Cortes revoked, and Maria re- 
manded back in tears and despair to her solitary 
cell. 

He in whom she had wound up her gentle affec- 
tions, and who had fondly identified her with the 
hopes and happiness of his coming years, was now 

6 



62 SUITOR DEAD. 

debarred all access to her presence. Yet would he 
ascend a rock which towered near the convent, and 
wave his white handkerchief, and joyfully catchy the 
answering token of hers, as it gleamed from the grate 
of her high window ; and in the. still night, he might 
often be seen on that cliff making the expressive 
signal, and by the light of the full clear moon, exult- 
ingly discovering, at the shadowy grate, the replying 
evidence of an affection that could outwatch the 
morning star. 

He was soon ordered by his government upon 
a foreign station, where he fell an early victim to 
the diseases of the climate ; and there is now no evi- 
dence of his having been here, except what lives in 
the melancholy remembrance of poor Maria ; and 
there seems to be nothing here in sympathy with 
her, in her disappointment and grief, but the moan- 
ing of the wave, as it dies on the broken shore. 

Such is an outline of her history, to whom Mrs. 
R., Dr. M. and myself were introduced this morning, 
by the amiable Miss S. E. of Madeira. Upon ring- 
ing the outer bell of the convent,' we were conducted 
to a well furnished parlor in the second loft, com- 
municating with the more secluded interior, by a 
double grate. The lady Abbess was called, permis- 
sion to speak with Maria solicited, and the name 
of Miss E. sent in, as an attraction that never fails 
to bring her forth. 

Maria had no toilet to make, no curls to arrange, 



CHARM OF PERSON. 63 

and she was soon seen approaching the grate, with 
that easy and subdued air, which refinement and 
grief only can mould. Her eye kindled instantly 
as it met that of her friend, and though our unex- 
pected presence seemed at first slightly to discon- 
cert her, yet it was only a momentary embarrass- 
ment, which bespeak the retiring delicacy of her 
nature. We were all immediately at ease, and she 
was speaking to each, in a tone so cheerful and ani- 
mated, that we quite forgat the sorrows, which had 
so darkly overshadowed her life. 

I stepped silently to a position where I could 
study with less exposure, the sweet being before us. 
Her veil was drawn aside, and she was telling Mrs. 
R. of the glimmering hope which still lingered in her 
solitude. I have met before with many a face justly 
regarded as lovely, but never with one of such serene 
expressive beauty. This indescribable charm was 
confined to no particular feature, — it dwelt like a 
sweet dream upon the whole countenance, — each 
turn and shade and swelling line contributed to its 
perfection. Yet there was no want of distinct ex- 
pression, — her full blue eye alone contained the 
breaking mystery of a world, — all the voiceless 
thoughts, feelings, hopes and desires of the spirit 
within, seemed to float there in melancholy life. 

The sentiments of the spectator followed in quick 
sympathy, each token of this mute oracle of her 
heart. If its glance fell to the earth, he thought of 



64 EFFECT OF GRIEF* 

broken hopes and blighted expectations ; if it turned 
to heaven, he felt the aspirations of a confidence 
which no sorrows can wholly quench ; if it dwelt 
for a moment on him, he would find himself in 
smiles or tears, just as its look and tone might be. 

Around her dewy lips dwelt a wonted smile, 
which appeared as if it had been checked and 
shaded in its sunny flow, by some counter sen- 
timent of grief, and yet her lips did not suffer, in the 
breathing sweetness of their expression, by these 
mingling emotions. You felt no intense desire to 
approach those lips too nearly, and yet you could 
not turn away without looking again to the pensive, 
half-formed smile which slumbered there. 

The oval outline of her cheek had been very 
slightly invaded by her sorrows, though it still 
retained its delicate transparency, and was ever and 
anon mantling with exquisite life and loveliness. 
The exulting thought, that she might one day be 
free, would now and then rush to her glowing cheek, 
and gleam among its paler hues, like that deceptive 
flush, with which the hectic sometimes beautifies 
the dying ; and then the chilling suggestions of 
doubt and despair, would blanch fc it again to its 
marble whiteness. 

Her forehead, from which her raven hair was 
rolled back, rose in a fullness and serenity of aspect, 
that imparted a feminine dignity to the more tender 
and playful features of her face. It was a brow 



FEELINGS. 65 

that bespake intellect, without any of its sternness, 
and a serene enthusiasm, without any of its impa- 
tient passion. She seemed as one formed to please, 
and sensible to the gentlest impulse, yet capable, in 
an hour of trial, of leaning upon her own energies, 
and of sustaining herself upon the strength of a 
spirit, which no misfortune can wholly subdue. Still 
she appeared as susceptible, sweet and child-like, in 
her being, as if she had been wholly ignorant of 
this undying resource in herself. 

Her form was in keeping with the delicacy and 
richness of her mind and countenance. The pro- 
portions were moulded into that flowing curve, 
which fills the eye, without surpassing the decision 
of its chastened taste. Her whole person, in its 
more slender and full expressions, was a rare and 
happy triumph of nature ; — no art could improve it, 
and no heart be insensible to the exquisite perfec- 
tion of its symmetry and beauty. 

Such is only a faint outline of the animated 
being, near whom I now stood, as one enchanted in 
some dream of immortal loveliness and grief. If 
the power had then been lent me, the grate of that 
convent had fallen in twisted fragments, and I half 
accuse myself now, for not having tried the wrench- 
ing force of my arms upon it, although the most 
entire success would have been regarded by many, 
merely as an act of romantic folly. But cold must 
the heart be, that could turn away from that grate, 



66 ESCAPE. 

without being kindled, and filled with indignant 
regret. I never yet could see woman in tears, without 
being deeply moved. Man in his prison, may busy 
himself in the projected and daring intentions of an 
escape, but these bold and hardy adventures are 
above the cope and bearing of the timid and retiring 
female : she might, perhaps, nourish them silently 
in her heart, yet when she came to their execution, 
her diffident hand would fail in its perilous office. 

Her voice possessed a singular sweetness, and 
liquid fullness of tone ; its modulations came warb- 
ling on the ear like the musical flow of a rich harp- 
string ; it was a breathing harmony, living a mo- 
ment, and then melting away in the soft atmosphere, 
which her presence created. It appeared to possess 
a mellowing and pervading influence, bathing her 
lighted countenance, and steeping in music each 
eloquent feature, It resembled, in this spreading 
sweetness, the flowing of the dew-drop over the 
delicate veins of the violet. 

Yet Maria listened eagerly to the ingenious sug- 
gestions of Mrs. R. respecting an escape, and deemed 
it, in the shape contemplated, as practicable. But 
what could she do, provided this escape was 
effected ; there was no concealment in Madeira, that 
could long secure her from the searching pursuit of 
her oppressors, and she could not fly away unpro- 
tected into a land of strangers. Mrs, R. was ready 
to offer her the protection and patronage of a sister, 



SYMPATHY. 67 

but her connection with a public ship, and with the 
commander of that ship, forbade for the present, this 
generous expression of sympathy ; besides, Maria 
had too much delicacy to allow her liberation to 
involve her friend in any embarrassment. I re- 
gretted for once, that it was not in my power to 
absolve myself, from the obligations and responsibili- 
ties of a commission in the navy. I know not that 
the beautiful creature, would have taken the adven- 
turous flight with me, but sure I am, that I would 
not have parted with such a prize for all the pearls 
of Omer, and the gems of Golconda. 

These sentiments of admiration were by no 
means confined to myself. Dr. M. in this animated 
interchange of thoughts with the lovely captive, had 
unconsciously caught the pleasing infection ; indeed, 
it could not be otherwise with a man of his discri- 
minating taste and fine susceptibilities ; and then 
the object of our sympathy and affection was before 
us, so lovely, helpless, and surpassingly beautiful ; 
a heart that never moved before would have melted 
then, 

I wish I could trace the various turns which her 
conversation took, and the refined mental accom- 
plishments which it betrayed. The varied topics 
upon which her brilliant imagination lighted, she 
instantly animated with the very life of her feelings. 
Silence and solitude, with the contemplative habits 
which they bring, seemed to have attuned her mind 



68 PARTING. 

into harmony with the most pure and ethereal 
sphere of thought. Her spirit had a home, there far 
above the tumult, and strife, and sorrows of earth. 

But our parting moment had now come, yet we 
did not go without a token of Maria's affectionate 
regard. She put into the hand of each a cluster of 
fresh flowers. Among those which she presented to 
Mrs. R. were several of her own fabrication, but 
so delicately penciled, you could not have told them 
from the living blossoms, with which they were inter- 
twined. Mrs. R. tendered her in return an elegant 
ring, on which were appropriately represented two 
clasped hands in cameo. As for myself, I had 
nothing about my person indicative of my feelings, 
except two hearts, cut in cornelion, and so peculiarly 
united, that a destruction of one, must be the ruin of 
the other. These little offerings Maria accepted with 
a look of gratified sadness ; and now, as we breathed 
our adieu, and turned to go, her small white hand 
came quickly through the grate to Mrs. R., and 
before it was withdrawn, we each pressed it to our 
lips, and then wound off 

" With lingering step, and slow." 



CHAPTER VI. 

A singular Marriage— Cathedral— Clergy— Weighing a Protestant— 
The proscribed Fidalgo — Camancha Villa — Its Lady — The Ribei- 
ro— A Sleeping Sentinel— Force of Human Sympathy— Mystery 
of Sleep. 

A small party of us left the ship to-day, to dine 
with Mr. B., at his Camancha Villa. On reaching 
the shore we were met by a little girl, who came 
running up to us, with an eye full of laughter. I 
could not at first account for her delight, but it 
seemed that she sought in smiles, what many seek 
in tears. When the little boon which she asked, 
simply por sua saude — for the sake of your salva- 
tion — reached her hand, off with it she ran to a 
matronly looking person, in the most simple attire, 
who received it with a grateful countenance. It 
appears this lady is the mother of the girl, and in 
her more youthful and romantic years, gave the very 
highest evidence of the bewildering power of the 
" capricious passion," for though of a respectable 
family, she gave her heart and hand to a blind 
beggar — 

" The current of true love never did run smooth,"— 

and lived with him in a small cave, till his death, 



70 PRIESTS. 

an event which occurred a few years after their 
marriage. This playful child was theirs, and now 
supports her forsaken mother, by smiling you into 
a benevolent humor, and then taking your cheerful 
offering to one, whom all should regard with cha- 
rity, who believe in the resistless force of love. 

We now entered the cathedral, and found the 
priests extremely polite and attentive ; indeed, they 
could not with a good grace be otherwise, for they 
had been telling the lower orders of the population 
— who regard them as little less than oracles — that 
we had been sent of heaven, to break up the alarm- 
ing blockade of Don Pedro, and afford an access 
to provisions, which had begun to grow scarce in 
the island. We had, indeed, broken up the block- 
ade, but I seriously question whether our # commis- 
sion emanated from a higher source, than the presi- 
dent of the United States, much less could it be 
regarded as an expression of divine displeasure, 
towards the ambitious designs of the ex-emperor of 
Brazil, or of fostering favor, towards the rivited des- 
potism of his brother Don Miguel, or of holy sanc- 
tion, towards the political influence of a priesthood, 
whose power is here based on the most humiliating 
ignorance and superstition. 

The cathedral is a large structure of no exte- 
rior pretension, in the modern style, and lined with 
many pictures of the dying and the dead. Among 
these paintings, one, from its more conspicuous 



CARVALHAL VILLA. 71 

position and characteristic design, instantly caught 
my attention. It held forth in strong relief the 
most unevenly balanced scales ever known since 
the weighing of man's prospects of heaven. In one 
lay a good favored Catholic, plump down to the 
counter, solid and sure ; in the other, an unlucky 
Protestant, keeled up in hopeless despair. He had 
been laid in the Jesuitical balance, and found want- 
ing. We might smile at this symbol of bigotry, 
were it not that it whimsically forestalls the deci- 
sions of the Judgment day. 

We now mounted ponies for Camancha, distant 
six or seven miles. The road which we took led 
past the magnificent villa of Seignor Joas de Car- 
valhal, the richest fidalgo of the island. Having 
in our company a gentleman quite at home there, we 
halted, and dismounting, entered a heavy iron gate 
whose rusty bolts spoke of change and misfortune. 
The winding vistas of the orange, lemon, myrtle, 
and bannana, with the reeling vine and fragrant 
flower, opened before us in tropical luxuriance. 
To N the eye of one just from a frost-bitten clime, it 
was as the first blush of Eden to the eye of Adam. 

Through the green depths rippled a stream, that 
had been induced from the distant mountain. 
Here it fell in a glittering cascade ; there it supplied 
a calm lake, upon which floated a swan joyously, 
as if ignorant of the exiled and unhappy condition 
of its lord. Alas for him ! a man of noble qualities, 



72 camancha: 

whose munificent hospitality was in keeping with 
his wealth ; but he was suspected of entertaining 
principles, that breathed too warmly of freedom, and 
was forced to fly, leaving his immense estates to 
confiscation and plunder. I saw but a few days 
since, a number of the hundred pipes of wine found 
in his cellar, and which had been seized by the 
government, exposed to sale. But no purchasers 
appeared ; they would have nothing to do with 
"Naboth's vineyard." Ahab might revel in its 
sweets, and share alone the fruits of his crime. 
After a saddened walk of two hours through the 
neglected park, the deserted mansion, the silent 
chapel, and forsaken summer-house, we whispered 
a deep denunciation to tyranny and departed. 

We were soon at the Camancha Villa, which is 
nestled in a small verdant valley, and sheltered from 
the drifting winds by a circling range of densely 
wooded steps. It is just such a spot as one would 
choose, who wishes to retire from the dusty jar of 
the world, and drink in the fresh spirit of nature. 
It is in perfect consonance with the tranquil cast of 
her taste, who fixed on this spot, not so much from 
a settled disaffection to the more stirring scenes of 
life, as the desire of an occasional refuge, where she 
might indulge her classical and contemplative 
habits. I have seen this accomplished lady in the 
circles of the gay, and though she would there 
enchain the capricious waywardness of youth, in a 



DISASTER. # 73 

sparkling flow of thought, yet it is in this hushed 
place that she seems to fill the full measure of her 
sphere. She is here as the queen of night moving 
through the silent heaven. 

We had taken our walk through the garden 
which, like that of Tasso's muse, 

"Apriche collinette, ambrose valle, 
Silve e spelonche in vista offeree," 

where the plants of India, Africa, and Mexico, 
breathe their mingling perfume : we had seen the 
little boat that on its chrystal element trims its own 
sail to the breeze, and the gold-fish sporting in the 
ripple of its wake; — we had traced the stream- 
let ever murmuring its music to the spirit of the 
place, and living on in freshness and harmony 
when decay has stricken the blossoming year ; — 
the festivities of the day were over, our serftiments of 
friendship plighted, and now the purpling twilight 
bade us depart. Adieu to thee, Camancha, — adieu to 
thee, fair lady, — many be thy years, and happy as 
he is blest, who won and retains thy affections. 

On our return we crossed the ribeiro, which 
intersects the eastern end of the city ; it now shows 
itself only as a little babbling brook, but some twenty 
years past I am told it was so swollen by the bursting 
of a cloud in the mountains, that it carried off in its tor- 
rent sweep a hundred dwellings with their unwarned 
inhabitants. It occurred in the dead of the night, 
7 



74 SENTRY* 

and before the sleeper could awake to his peril, he 
was whelmed in the rushing mass of ruin : 



" lapides adesos, 

Stirpesque raptas, et pecus, et domos 
Volventis una." 

The gigantic remains of a church are still shown 
as the sad evidence of this terrible catastrophe, 
which indeed seems to have anchored itself so fright- 
fully in the recollections of the people, that they 
speak of events which took place before the flood, 
and leave you in danger of confounding the mira- 
cles of this little streamlet with the destructions of the 
general deluge. 

On reaching the gate which communicates with 
the shore, we found it bolted, and a sentry sleeping 
beside it, with as much composure as if the days of 
hanging and shooting for this defection from duty 
were over. His gun lay beside him, wet with the 
dew ; and even his dog, whom it would seem he had 
appointed a sort of deputy watch, did not feel suffi- 
ciently the responsibilities of his trust to keep 
wholly awake. All this was well for us, not that it 
enabled us to pass the gate, but the poor soldier on 
awaking was so happy in ascertaining that it was 
not the patroll who had caught him asleep, that he 
unceremoniously turned the key, and saved us the 
trouble of going to the guard-house for a pass. 
Poor fellow ! — let him sleep and take his rest ; for 



SYMPATHY. 75 

what is life to him — what its thousand sources of 
wakefulness and interest. His days moulder 
through a narrow round of unmeaning duties. In 
peace there is nothing to quicken a solitary pulse ; 
and if war come, it is only that he may be hacked 
to pieces for the ambition of another, and then cast 
into a hospital to be forgotten and die ! 

My feelings, while looking at the condition of 
this poor soldier, would alone convince me of the 
force and sacredness of human sympathy. We are 
so mysteriously made that suffering and virtue, in 
whatever form presented, never fail to excite our 
pity and veneration. Even where this affecting 
trait is an exception to all the other characteristics of 
the individual, still we admire and weep. The 
tender affection of Conrad for Medora half recon- 
ciles us to the wild life of the Corsair ; and we 
tremble to each doubt and hope, as he springs from 
shore to cliff to greet once more — alas ! that 
changed and changeless countenance. We yearn 
to let Othello know that the object of his love and 
fatal jealousy is innocent, and that Iago is the 
wretch on whom the lightning of his indignation 
should fall. We rejoice to see the "Birnam-wood 
move towards Dunsinare," convincing us no less 
than Macbeth, that he may be put to death by 
"man of woman bom." When Romeo with his 
mattock thunders on the portal of the tomb in 
which Juliet sleeps, we hear the marble break, and 



76 AFFECTIONS. 

would give a world could Juliet hear it also. When 
Gloucester loses his eyes, and with them, his 
desire of life, and hires a poor peasant, as he sup- 
poses, to lead him to the verge of the precipice that 
beetles over the sea, and bidding an eternal farewell 
to the world, makes the desperate leap ; it is quite 
as difficult to persuade us as it was him that he has 
not actually fallen many a fearful fathom down. 

This sympathy extends beyond our own species. 
Cowper is not the only being who has wept over 
the untimely end of some favorite prisoner of the 
cage. I should not envy a man his sensibility who 
could be at ease, and hear the bleatings of a lamb 
that had fallen into the clutches of a wolf. Nor is 
this sympathy confined to animal existence. The 
mariner has a strange affection for the plank that has 
saved him from a watery grave. The octagenerian 
looks upon his old familiar cane rather as a com- 
panion than a support. Even the dog will bark at 
the stone that has rolled too carelessly over his foot. 
Thus are we strangely linked in our perceptions 
and sympathies with all the animate and material 
objects of the world ; and the slightest of them 
may often strike this electric chain with vivifying 
force. 

Enough of this philosophizing humor. The 
night wears late — the lamp that lights this vagrant 
page burns dimly : — I must rest— must sleep : — 
strange state of being — to live, yet be unconscious 



SLEEP. 77 

— to breathe, yet feel not the pulses thrill — to sigh, 
love, smile and weep, yet be insensible to the quick 
presence of all outward things : — would that one 
could penetrate this state — reveal its mysteries — its 
deep, tongueless secrets : — does it resemble the 
slumber of the shroud ? or do we there diye still 
deeper from the realities of life ? how shall that 
sleep be broken up? — 

" When will it be morn in the grave !" 



CHAPTER VII. 

Madeira continued— Morning— Matins of Maria— Ride to the Cur- 
ral— Stupendous Scenery— Quiet Hamlet— Force of Habit- 
Saint's Day— Homage of Gun-Powder— Recollections of Home 
—Twilight— The Vesper -Bell. 

Nature here awakes from her night's repose 
with a freshness and vigor, which fill one with the 
most vivifying sensations. Each mount and vale 
and wood and water-fall break upon you with an 
exulting life, that calls up within you the joyous 
and irrepressible feelings of your earliest years. 
Your first impulse is to bury yourself in some more 
favored recess, or ascend some height, around which, 
the fragrant earth sends up the incense of its thou- 
sand altars. To gratify these feelings in their 
widest scope, we started this morning, with the fresh- 
ening light, for the Curral — that great marvel of 
Madeiran scenery. 

We were well mounted, and soon moving through 
the high-walled street which leads past the convent 
of Santa Clara. It was the hour of Matins, and 
the early prayer of the beautiful Maria was ascend- 
ing in unison with the pure homage of nature, to 
the great source of all 1 ight and blessedness. I could 
have stopped and listened to the solemn chant that 
stole through the grate of the chapel window, but 



MATINS OF MARIA. 79 

sterner hearts were near me, and I must move on 
with only time to whisper an earnest blessing to the 
unseen worshiper within. Who could endure to 
be cut off, like this lovely being, in the first flowing 
of the heart's affections, from all the congenial 
objects of its fervid desire ; — never to mingle in the 
delights of social endearment; — never to feel the 
sweet influences of the varied year ; — never to see 
the return of purpling eve, or 

" Morn in russet mantle clad, 
Walk o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill." 

From the convent we passed the humble church of 
St. Antonio, and thence onward and upward through 
a continuous series of vineyards, all sheltered from 
the chilling effects of the north winds, by the heights 
to which we were tending. The orange-tree was bend- 
ing under its golden burden ; the bannana revealing 
between the bright expanse of its broad leaves its 
delicious treasures ; and the low winds, which had 
slept amid the flowers through the night, were 
abroad, scattering the perfume of their gathered 
sweets. A mile or two further of these gradual 
ascents, and cultivation ceased ; the vine, save here 
and there, could not find soil in which to strike its 
roots ; and even where it could effect this foothold, 
was chilled into sterility. We continued on, now in 
a zigzag motion, up the steep height, and then on a 
path of frightful narrowness and elevation around 



80 



COUNTRY. 



its sharp pinnacle, till our steps were at length sus- 
pended on the verge of the Curral. 

This inland wonder is a valley of a wild ravine 
character, lying at a depth of three thousand feet 
beneath the cliff on which we stood, and surrounded 
on all sides by an equal, and at many points, by a 
still loftier range of rocks. Far down in its green 
bosom, a cluster of white cottages may be seen, in 
the midst of which stands the delicate church of 
Nossa Senhora do Livramento, and near by, the 
humble mansion of the goodly padre. These habita- 
tions, from our elevated position, appeared not larger 
than what might well accommodate the prattlers 
of the nursery ; and the hawk, which wheeled mid- 
way, dwindled to the form of a bird, that might rock 
itself to slumber in a rose-bud. 

The quiet aspect of this little village, contrasted 
strangely with the mountain barrier which towered 
in wildness and grandeur around it. In many pla- 
ces these precipices dropped to the bottom with an 
almost perpendicular front; in others, they were 
broken, and there the til and vinhatico cast below 
the deep umbrage of their forest gloom. While over 
the wave- worn steep, rushed some stream on its ex- 
ulting course, to the torrent that called to it from 
beneath. It was a place where the thunder-cloud 
would seem most at home, yet as the calm bow will 
sometimes attend this minister of sublime terror, so 



CURRAL. 81 

this sweet hamlet smiled out from its terrific dwell- 
ing-place. 

We now commenced our descent to the valley, 
which we reached by an extremely narrow path, 
cut along the steep face of the rocks, and requiring 
in us a philosopher's steadiness of brain, and a rope- 
dancer's dexterity of balance. The ingenuity dis- 
played by our Burroqueros, in getting down our 
ponies, was quite original, and but for the perils at- 
tending it, would have been burstingly ludicrous. 
When a smooth precipitous descent of several feet 
occurred, where the animal could obtain no foot- 
hold, they would let him down upon his patient 
haunches, by the flowing length of his tail, with 
many appliances of a steadying character, nicely 
adjusted to the emergency of the occasion. This 
will appear about as credible as the story of the fly- 
ing horse ; but if there never be a greater deviation 
from truth, exaggeration and falsehood will cease 
among travelers. 

On reaching the small church of the hamlet, we 
found a tiny flag flying from something like a liberty 
pole in its court, and a little cannon sending out 
its noisy breath. On enquiring for the occasion of 
this military display, we were informed that it was 
in honor of the sainted lady, whose image we now 
discovered on the flapping banner. I had heard of 
prayers being offered to saints, but the homage of 
gunpowder was a novelty. It is a little singular 



82 DESCENT. 

that the same element which the assassin employs 
for the destruction of his victim, the suppliant should 
use in worship of his saint. But enough of this 
heterodox deviation. 

Standing in the centre of this deep valley, though 
the indications of human life and industry are 
around one in a variety of forms, yet there is very 
little that forcibly reminds him of man. This do- 
mestic sentiment is overwhelmed in the mightier 
impressions of nature. From the bottom of a pro- 
found abyss, he is looking up to mountains which 
steeply enclose him on all sides, and tower to the 
very heavens in the wildest magnificence. From 
the broken summits, around which the cloud rallies 
in darkness, down to the torrent that rolls at his 
feet, every thing awes and subdues him. Wherever 
he turns, the threatening mass of some lofty cliff, or 
the shadowy mysteries of some unpierced chasm, or 
the hollow voice of some unseen water-fall, or the 
perpetual gloom of the forest tree, impresses him with 
sublime terror. He feels as one shut out from the 
gayer scenes of earth— confined within an insur- 
mountable barrier of precipitous rock, and doomed 
forever, in his helplessness and desertion, to trem- 
ble under a sense of height and depth, solitude, so- 
lemnity and danger. 

Yet the unpretending tenants of this secluded 
spot pursue their quiet vocations, as free of alarm, 
as they are of molestation. They cultivate their 



SCENERY, 83 

vines in the very crater, whose bursting energies 
throw up this island from the bed of the ocean.— 
Every thing around them has upon it the marks of 
volcanic violence, and seems still to be pillared upon 
a slumbering earthquake ; but these ominous ap- 
pearances and recollections do not disturb their calm 
and ever cheerful contentment. 

This results from the force of habit. It is this 
mysterious principle in our nature that enables the 
mariner to sing under the dark frown of the coming 
storm, — that makes the peasant sleep soundly at the 
shaking foot of Etna — and the chamois hunter pur- 
sue his game, in lightness and glee along the glit- 
tering verge of the avalanche. Can any thing with- 
in the range of our conceptions more thoroughly 
adapt man to his condition, than nature ? and this 
she effects so silently and unperceived by the indi- 
vidual himself, that before he is aware of it, he is 
singing under the clouds that mantles the tempest — 
looking with exulting sensations into the eye of the 
volcano — or holding a carnaval over the ashes and 
bones of an entombed city. Let those who treat 
with lightness the untutored influences of nature, 
find in reason, if they can, a more effective and per- 
vading power. 

I return to the Curral. This is a part of the 
domain of the Santa Clara Convent ; and is con- 
templated as a refuge for the nuns, in case a hostile 
invasion should render it necessary. I should be 



84 REFUGE. 

tempted myself to join an expedition to storm the 
nunnery, if it would be the means of planting in this 
retreat the imprisoned Maria. Her romantic heart 
would here find objects fitted to its high and enthu- 
siastic nature. She is now like a bird of adventu- 
rous wing and gifted song, caged to the lattice of one 
steeled to the injury inflicted and incapable of grief 
for the melody lost. I must unwire that cage and 
liberate the captive : there will then be music sweeter 
than that breathed through the star-lit bowers of 
Eden by 

(t The wakeful nightingale, 



Who all night long her amorous descant sung." 

The spot on which we had fixed for a half- 
hour's repose was a large rock, rising boldly out of 
the rushing stream, and commanding the most com- 
prehensive view of the stupendous scenes around. — 
We here spread out the welcome collation, which 
the provident fore-thought of Mrs. R. had munifi- 
cently provided. The severe exercise which we had 
undergone gave a keen relish to the occasion. There 
is no appetite so unfastidious in its demands, and 
so happy in its gratification, as that produced by 
mild fatigue, especially when the effort has been 
sprinkled with adventure, and enlivened by agreea- 
ble company. We suspended a bottle or two of the 
purest Madeira in the stream — which was indisputa- 
bly an excellent cooler — and then in the flowing 
cup, remembered those far away, and some of whom, 



ASCENT. 85 

perhaps we never more might see. With what 
yearning fondness, the affections of one in a strange 
land will turn to his native shore, though oceans roll 
between. I am not astonished that the exiled Swiss 
thinks of his wild hills with mournful regret ; much 
less do I wonder that the Hebrew captive hung his 
harp on the willow, and wept by Babel's stream, 
when he remembered Zion. Home never appears 
so sweet to us as when deprived of its endearments, 
all that may have been coarse or repulsive about if, 
is then forgotten, and every attraction is invested 
with an additional charm. 

Our repast over, Capt. Reed proposed that we 
should climb the side of the Curral, opposite to that 
which we had descended. The task was one of ex- 
treme difficulty, for the face of the mountain, though 
broken into chasms, cliffs, and crags, was very pre- 
cipitous, and presented an elevation of four thousand 
feet. But by winding along its front, and improving 
every slope of less boldness, we at last gained the top. 
Thanks to the roots of those shrubs for the perti- 
nacity with which they clung to the rocks ; it was 
often our only hope and safety. I thought we had 
taken a final farewell of our ponies, but their atten- 
dants forced them up. The dexterity of both is in- 
credible ; they seem to be strangers to fatigue, and 
superior to any obstacles, which nature in her fiercest 
fit of defiance, may cast in their way. We now 
picked our way along the sharp ridge, with the Cur- 

8 



86 RETURN. 

ral on our left, when the Serra d'Agoa, a ravine of 
equal depth, and perhaps of more rugged magnifi- 
cence, opened beneath us on the right. A current 
of white clouds was pouring down its opposite side, 
and so closely resembling a foaming cataract, that 
the illusion for a few minutes was entire. The lin- 
gering splendors of the setting sun, the silence of the 
approaching twilight, and the long shadows which 
began to cast their dark forms below, imparted a 
fearful interest and solemnity to the scene. I have 
stood by the plunging tide of Niagara, and seen its 
mighty wave roll down into its abyss of agony and 
thunder ; but there is not in all its fierceness and 
crushing strength, that which fills the mind with 
such a deep and mysterious awe as these hushed and 
fathomless ravines. We could have lingered here 
for hours, but the fading light warned us to go. 
Wo to the luckless wight, who sings his Ave Maria 
on that height ; it will be his last vesper ; the dry- 
ads of the untrodden chasm only will know the 
place of his grave. 

We descended without any serious accident, 
and were happy in finding ourselves once more on 
a road where we could mount our ponies. Our 
return, in consequence of having crossed the Curralj 
was much more circuitous than our rout in the 
morning ; but the picturesque novelty of the varying 
scenery, as it opened upon us in the depths of the 
twilight hour, more than reconciled us to the length 



TWILIGHT. 87 

of our way. The light that is shed here from an 
evening sky, lies on the landscape in a rich mellow 
slumber. There is a softness and liquid fullness 
about it, that makes you think you can drink it as 
you would nectar. Were I to turn idolater here, 
the objects of my worship would be, the genius tha£ 
reigns in the awful Curral, the spirit that breathes 
through the star-lit night, and the beautiful being 
who dwells in sweetness and grief within the veil of 
Santa Clara. 

Hark to the bell in Clara's turret reeling, 
Bidding the vestals for their rites prepare ; 

When low before the white-robed altar kneeling, 
Maria meekly breathes her vesper prayer, — 

A prayer so full of holy, fervid feeling, 
She seems a sainted spirit, lighted there 

To pray, — giving to this one spot of earth 

The heavenly charm that hovered round its birth. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Sketches of Madeira— Physical Features— Wines— Climate— City 
of Funchal— Priests— Society — Morals— Peasantry— Merchants 
—Political Opinions— Habits of the Ladies— Courtships— Our 
Parting and Farewell. 

The Island of Madeira is full of marvel and 
romance. It was thrown up into this breathing 
world by some volcanic convulsion ; it was dis- 
covered by a wandering love-adventure ; its every 
aspect is one of wildness and beauty j and its wines 
prompt the most rich and unearthly dreams. There 
is nothing about it that has the smallest cast of 
sameness, except its climate ; and that could hardly 
be improved by any changes wider than the slight 
vibrations, through which it passes, and whi chare 
full of softness and vitality. It is indeed a fairy 
land, — the paradise of the Atlantic,— the gem of the 
ocean. But I will look at some of the more marked 
and discriminating features of this singular island. 

Its southern coast descends in easy and green 
declivities to the sea. These warm slopes are 
covered with the choicest vineyards ; the vine 
seems to reel under its purple burthen. Where the 
ascent is so steep as to render it necessary, it is 



WINES OF MADEIRA. 89 

thrown off into parapets, which may be seen rising 
above each other in a lengthened series. So pre- 
cious is this southern exposure, that where there is 
no native soil, the rock is covered with earth, 
brought from a distance, with great labor and 
expense. The wines of these vineyards for rich- 
ness of body, deliciousness of flavor, and immunity 
from injury by time and indifferent treatment, are 
not equaled in the world. Who has not seen the 
hospitable host half in a rapture, as he bade his 
delighted guests fill their glasses from a little of the 
:{ old south side" left him by some worthy ancestor. 
But " who hath redness of eyes?— they that tarry 
long at the wine." 

The northern shore of the island rises from the 
wave in a bold, elevated range of rock ; but what it 
gains in majesty it loses in other respects. The 
vine is inferior to its sister of the south, and as if to 
punish it for its want of sweetness, instead of being 
supported by fine trellis-work of cane, it is left to 
climb up some bramble, or reluctant tree, as it can ; 
and then after all its best efforts, is still more deeply 
punished by being worked up into brandy. Some- 
times indeed, it has the good fortune to be removed 
in its infancy to the south side ; and then it never 
fails to secure affection and esteem. 

The centre of the island has the Curral, and the 
magnificent heights which surround it, and which 
are filled with gushing fountains, that send their 

8* 



90 CLIMATE. 

laughing waters in every direction to the shore. 
Every cliff, and chasm, and cascade, has around it the 
deep shadows of some indigenous wood, — the mys- 
tery of some romantic legend, — the despair of a 
lover's leap, — or the yielding affections of beauty, 
flying from the stern mandates of parental autho- 
rity. 

The climate is one of unvarying mildness and 
salubrity : it is a continual spring with its fruits and 
flowers and fragrant breath. This uniformity of 
temperature is one of its most charming features ; 
you are never oppressed with heat ; never pinched 
up with cold. The thermometer usually ranges 
from sixty to seventy-five degrees ; and in the 
greatest extremes, rarely rises or sinks more than 
five degrees above or below that agreeable medium. 
This place is a favorite resort for invalids ; espe- 
cially those afflicted with pulmonary complaints. 
You meet with them from the most distant climes. 
The atmosphere has a peculiar elasticity and soft- 
ness; it flows through the delicate lungs with a 
soothing healing influence. 

The patient fears no attack from any diseaes 
foreign to his own malady; for a malignant fever or 
fatal epidemic is not known here. And so entirely 
has nature intended the place as one of harmlessness 
as well as health, that she has excluded from it 
every description of venomous reptiles and insects ; 
even the musqueto has never been able to obtain a 



aUINTAS. 91 

citizenship. Whether it be owing to natural 
causes or not, I cannot say ; but during the time that 
I have been at this island, I have never once heard a 
child cry. The little nestler appears to be so well 
satisfied with the new world, in which he has 
arrived, that he troubles no one with the fretful calls 
of any ungratified want. Who would not venture 
to get married at Madeira ? 

Funchal is the principal town of the island ; 
it is delightfully situated on the south side, and 
contains a population of about twenty thousand. 
The streets are very narrow, and ascending as they 
lead from the shore ; but they are remarkably 
clean ; and a refreshing air is given to thern by a 
little runnel of water that courses down the 
centre. The buildings are generally of two sto- 
ries ; many of them have iron balconies at the win- 
dows, and a belvidere or turret, which is a favorite 
resort in the evening. 

Some of the wealthier class, especially the 
English merchants, have Quintas — beautiful sum- 
mer residences — in the vicinity of the town. Around 
these fresh retreats, the vine, shrubbery and flora of 
the island, appear to the highest advantage. The 
grape, with its creeping tendrils and exuberant 
foliage, shadows the cool corridor; the geranium 
and fussia rise in a firm aromatic wall ; while a 
vast variety of flowers bloom in their tasteful ar- 



92 SOCIETY. 

rangements ; many of them are sweet exotics, but 
they seem here not to pine for their native skies. 

Among the natives there is very little of that 
free, social intercourse, which constitutes so promi- 
nent and pleasing a feature of society with us. 
This reserve is owing in part to a wider distinction 
of classes, but more to a useless jealousy. The 
husband has little confidence in the fidelity of his 
soft companion, and the good lady has just as 
little in the virtuous education of her daughters, and 
the Argus-eyed vigilance of both is frequently elu- 
ded. In the annual returns of births in the parish 
of the cathedral, the number of children espostos, 
que nao se sabe quern sao seus pays, generally 
equals that of those born de legitimo matrimonio. 

This laxness of morals will always be found, 
where a blind indiscriminate jealousy is substituted 
for the restraints of an enlightened conscience, and 
a high tone of public sentiment. If a parent wishes 
to keep himself and the members of his household 
in the paths of virtuous peace and happiness, he 
should introduce among them the Bible, and bind 
upon the heart the spirit of its sanctions : this will 
do a thousand times more to aid his better purposes, 
than all the bolts, and bars, and sleepless suspicions 
that ever yet embarrassed the wandering, or punished 
the guilty. Yet it is astonishing what a degree of 
composure the domestic relations maintain here, 



POLITICS. 93 

notwithstanding this frequent profanation of their 
shrine. It can be explained only on the supposition 
of a want of innocence to cast the first stone. No- 
thing so disarms the injured and incensed, as a 
consiousness that he is guilty himself of the very 
crime, which he would expose and punish in others. 

The man who requires fidelity and purity at 
home, must not carry treason and contamination 
abroad ; if he breaks within the sanctuary of his 
neighbor, it is but a just retribution that his own 
hearth should be profaned ; if he wanders in search 
of forbidden pleasures, he must not expect even 
his own children to escape the contagion of his 
example. The censor should be immaculate of the 
crime which he condemns in the culprit. 

The more influential and better informed portion 
of the population of Madeira, are in favor of a 
government based on liberal principles. They 
utterly loathe the miserable despotism to which 
they are now forced to submit. They do not speak 
out, but there is deep thunder ready to rend the cloud. 
That the present state of things must soon change 
no one who has any knowledge on the subject, can 
doubt. It is not in human nature long to endure 
such wrongs unredressed. Whether the condition 
of the people will be improved by the success of 
those who have espoused the cause of Anna Maria 
remains to be shown ; but one thing is very clear, it 
can hardly be rendered more deplorable. 



94 THE CLERGY. 

A revolution would have taken place before this, 
but for the unaccountable influence of the clergy 
over the lower orders. These men of sables, I 
regret to say, appear to have forgotten their high 
and holy calling ; for instead of being interested in 
multiplying the sources of intelligence and sacred 
influences, they seem to be engaged in suppressing 
inquiry, and stifling the breaking light of the age. 
They sympathise with every movement that casts a 
new weight upon the drooping energies of human 
nature. There was a great exultation among 
them, when it was announced here a few days since, 
that the administration of Earl Gray had been over- 
thrown, and that the Wellington party, with its 
high-toned aristocratic sentiments, had been installed 
upon its ruins. The aged bishop, in the plenitude 
of his thankfulness, crept up the stone steps of the 
cathedral three times, at the dead of night, upon 
the naked knee. But his hopes were blasted in the 
bud ; Gray was soon recalled, and the Reform Bill 
passed in triumph ; so perish the hopes of all who 
seek; to trammel the public mind. 

The condition of the peasantry is not one of 
such unrelieved wretchedness, as its external form 
would intimate. Who would suppose that the 
comfort, inseparable from the smallest portion of 
happiness, could be found in a cabin without a floor, 
or window, or chimney, and where the only edibles 
seen are the yam, the pumpkin, the batata, and a fish 



PEASANTRY. 95 

over which even the gull might hesitate. Yet I 
found in these very cabins, a kindness, contentment 
and cheerfulness, to which the abodes of refinement 
and luxury are often strangers. Yet this smiling 
contentment was not of that animal sort which con- 
sists in an insensibility to its condition; through 
all the shades of its deprivations there was a quick 
intelligence, and a hope of better days, as irrepressi- 
ble as the mountain wind. 

The peasants are a healthy, muscular, and active 
class of people. The dress with the men consists of a 
conical cap thrown on the top of the head, a coarse 
linen shirt with an extremely narrow collar and flow- 
ing sleeve, and which is confined just above the hip, 
by the band of a pair of loose kilts of the same mate- 
rial, which in their turn descend to the knee, and 
are there gathered and confined, while a short boot 
leaving a part of the leg bare, completes the costume. 
The women wear a similar cap, with short petti- 
coats, and a palarine which protects the ample chest 
and firm set shoulders, and is fastened behind. Such 
a dress has one thing to recommend it at least, it 
leaves nature free in the discharge of her noble func- 
tions ; there is no narrowing, pinching, torturing 
whalebone, or constricting cordage about it — inven- 
tions which death has introduced to flatter the fancy 
and fill the grave. 

The English ladies at Madeira form a small, but 
intelligent and attractive circle. The mild cli- 



96 MADEIRAN LADIES. 

mate appears to soften down those more sanguine 
traits of character, to which the daughters of Albion 
are a little prone, and which are slightly at variance 
with a perfect delicacy and sweetness of disposition. 
I observed similar effects of climate, upon the same 
polished class, in the island of Santa Cruz. The 
climate of England wants that softness, which 
breathes such a mellowed harmony through the spirit 
of the fair Madeiran. It is this melody of soul which 
imparts such a tranquil and exquisite beauty to the 
countenance of the gentle inmate of Santa Clara. 
As I saw this peerless one conversing with the sister 
of her heart, in her early visit, it appeared like the 
meeting of two light clouds, without an element to 
disturb the amalgamating flow. 

A Madeiran lady seldom walks, and very rarely 
rides except in her palankeen. This is a sort of 
swinging cradle, suspended from a slight pole, and 
borne upon the shoulders of two men, and is so 
closely enclosed by curtains, as entirely to secure the 
fair occupant from observation, save now and then 
when her small hand feigns to adjust the dra- 
pery, or her flashing eye finds some intended aper- 
ture, through which it can exchange the exulting 
glance. In this mode she goes to mass, and makes 
morning calls, and sometimes steals a look at one 
whom she may not yet openly encounter. 

But the matrimonial preliminaries are generally 
conducted in a quite different form. The gentle T 



COURTSHIPS, 97 

man passes in front of the lady's house, with a fre- 
quency which cannot escape her notice ; if she is 
pleased with her out-door visitor, she manifests her 
interest by appearing at the window of the upper 
story 5 as his attentions are continued, and her com- 
placency increased, she gradually descends from one 
loft to another, until she reaches the window of her 
parlor ; from this she casts him some flowers, signifi- 
cant of her pleasure ; at length she permits him to 
pay her the passing compliment of the morning, 
while she returns him some word or broken sen- 
tence of mystical and magical import ; but she never 
permits him to come in, until he has obtained the con- 
sent of her parents — and then not to address her a few 
months and run away — but to marry her, and 
his request and their consent are regarded as a bona 
fide contract, which neither party can violate with- 
out dishonor. 

There is something ih this mode of approxima- 
tion and union that I like. It has none of that long, 
feeling, sounding, experimental process about it, 
which obtains in our country, and which too fre- 
quently ends only in the disappointment and mortifi- 
cation of one of the parties, — unless, as is sometimes 
the case, the farce has a still more tragical close, in 
a blighted name, or a broken heart. Ladies, who 
have usually the most to apprehend from these un- 
meaning pastimes, should be careful how they set 
the example of a trifling disingenuousness, for if they 



98 HOSPITALITY- 

are honest and sincere, the men will not dare to play 
the hypocrite. Nothing is more calculated to make 
a gentleman honest, than the presence of an honest 
lady. 

I leave Madeira with regret. — I could never be 
wearied with its climate, its scenery and society. 
The pleasures of our visit here have been much en- 
hanced by the polite attentions of our vice consul, 
Mr. Perigal. Though under no obligations to be 
peculiarly civil, yet his time, his well furnished table 
and ample mansion were proffered to us in that cor- 
dial, unceremonious manner, which makes accept- 
ance easy, and leaves one at liberty to come and go 
at pleasure. It was a true specimen of the polite- 
ness and hospitality which adorned the olden times, 
and which may be met with occasionally in these 
later days. No one can enjoy such favors, espe- 
cially in a strange land, without cherishing — what 
I know we do on the present occasion — the liveliest 
sentiments of gratitude and esteem. We shall look 
back to the hospitality of this shore, as the pilgrim to 
the sparkling waters of the desert spring. 

But our anchor is up — our sails are unfurled — 
the springing breeze comes fast — and we must bid 
adieu to Madeira and Maria. Farewell thou wild 
and beautiful Isle ! — nothing lovlier than thee ever 
rose from the ocean, or possessed a more captivating 
claim to the first smile of the morning star. Fare- 
well Maria ! — the veil never shadowed a sweeter 



PARTING. 99 

countenance, nor hath convent-wall imprisoned a 
purer heart, than thine ! — may thy footsteps soon be 
uncotifined as thy spirit ; — but whether free and 
bright, or chained and mournful, be the lot of thy 
coming years, thou wilt long be remembered by 
those, who never met thee but with increased fond- 
ness, and now leave thee, with lingering affection 
and grief ! 



&* 



Farewell ! — and should we meet no more; 

Except in memory's dream ; 
Yet sweet the visions, that restore 

A semblance thou dost seem. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Passage from Madeira to Lisbon— Sea-sickness as a Purgatorial State 
— Situation of a Member of Congress and Officer of the Navy com- 
pared — Rock of Lisbon— Pilot — Tagus — Cheering — Rockets — Don 

Miguel. 

I did hope, when we had reached Madeira, and 
quite crossed the Atlantic, that the horrors of sea- 
sickness were over, at least, for this cruise ; but this 
persecuting plague of the ocean has come again, 
foul and ghastly as Milton's personification of sin at 
the portals of the lower world* A heavy head-sea 
is heaving against our brows the mass of its vio- 
lent strength, while our ship shakes through her 
sides, like a whale in the convulsions of death. 
But this frightful paroxysm, were it all, might be 
endured ; but then to be yourself sickened beyond 
all the powers of the most nauseating drugs — to 
heave.up, in wrenching throes your very vitals from 
their bleeding roots — to be battled and bruised and 
tumbled about, as a loathsome things which even 
the sea would spurn from its presence, and almost 
deny a grave — this is enough to torture and disgust 
one out of life. I wonder not that the sea-sick some- 
time^ while the power of motion remains, roll over- 



SEA-SICKNESS. 101 

board, and bury themselves before their time ; for if 
suicide be ever without guilt, it is where the poor 
wretch has every thing of death, but its insensi- 
bility. 

It is astonishing to me that the ancients, whose 
imaginations were so prolific of woe, never introdu- 
ced, among their Tartarean torments, the horrors of 
sea-sickness. For what is the plight of a wandering 
ghost ; or the thirst of a Tantalus ; or the recoiling 
task of Sisyphus ; or even the inexorable wheel of 
Axion, compared with the condition of one, who is 
forever straining and retching to heave up from his 
inmost being, a rankling, broiling, clinging nest of 
torture — and in his agony and faintness, and swim- 
ming delirium, calling in vain, on death for relief! 
If I ever construct the machinery of a purgatorial 
state, I will place in the very centre of its horrors, 
a rolling deck, strewn with the ghastly victims of 
sea-sickness: — for the man must be lost to reason, 
who could think of long enduring such a retribution 
for all the pride, and pomp, and gratification, which 
float between the cradle and the grave. / 

I wish those members of Congress who think j < 
the officers of the navy sufficiently compensated for 
their hardships and sufferings, would just take one 
voyage to sea. It is an easy thing for a man to rock 
on to Washington, getting fifty cents a mile, for his 
smooth circuitous passage, — to take there a snug 
room, with its cheerful fire, easy-chair and sofa, — to 
9* 



102 MEMBERS OF CONGRESS. 

retire to rest at what hour he pleases, without even 
a mouse to disturb his repose, — to rise sometime 
along in the morning, and in gown and slippers, sip 
a bowl of coffee covered with rich cream, — to ride 
up to the Capitol at eleven o'clock, and take his 
armed chair, in a hall warmed to a mild and con- 
genial temperature, — to open his mail, and peruse a 
sweet letter from his affectionate wife, then unfold a 
newspaper and read the compliments of its editor 
on his last speech, — to ambulate in the lobby and talk 
over a little politics, while some younker is address- 
ing the House, about the complexion of the inha- 
bitants in the moon, — to ride home to his quar- 
ters and dine on viands and vegetables, warm and 
rich, with a bottle of old wine to mellow them down, 
— to take a quiet siasta,and in the evening go to the 
drawing-room and exchange smiles with the ladies, 
— and when the session is over — to draw eight dol- 
lars a day for services thus rendered the country ! 

All this is very easy, — very comfortable, — quite 
a desirable condition, — and I would not disturb its 
sweetness and serenity by one unnecessary care. 
But suppose this individual exchange situations 
with one of us, and ascertain what our amply com- 
pensated life of gaiety and romance really is. Be- 
fore he dreams of it, he is ordered off to sea, so 
peremptorily that even a new-married wife, or one 
that is dying, cannot plead him off an hour. He 
hastens on board his ship, looks back from the hur- 



NAVAL LIFE. 103 

rying wave to his native shore, perhaps for the last 
time, — begins to feel the deck of his vessel spinning 
around him, and then enters on the agonies of sea- 
sickness, — lifts his faint and drooping head from 
this rack of straining torture, and hears a thunder- 
gale roaring through his shrouds like the summons 
of the last trump, — draws his nerveless form upon 
deck, and sees the tattered fragments of a top-sail 
fluttering on the distant wind, or a broken spar scud- 
ding away from his ship, like a thief from the gal- 
lows : — through night, and tempest, and torrents 
from the clouds, he must ever keep his regular 
watch, and feel in all his weariness and exhaustion 
that the safety of the ship, and the preservation of 
the lives on board, are at issue upon the wisdom and 
vigor of his conduct. 

He is thirsty, — calls for a cup of water, — strains 
a liquid through his teeth, which has the name of 
that pure element, but which ropes away from his 
parching lips, — he is faint, requires sustenance, and 
thinks of a bowl of milk, so soothing and innocent, 
but it is far off in some farmer's dairy, — he thinks 
of fruits and vegetables, those fresh things of earth, 
which seen through a sea atmosphere, appear still 
more fresh and tempting, but they too are far away 
in some market which he may never see again, — 
and so he sits down with a dry crust, and hacks 
away at a ~;>iece of salt junk, at which a shark in 



104 NAVAL LIFE. 

any remarkable degree fastidious, would turn up 
its nose and pass on. 

While cruising around in chase of pirates, he 
falls in with a vessel just from his own country, 
and boards her with the eager expectation of find- 
ing letters from home, but he finds only a newspaper 
or two, containing a brief notice of the death of 
some esteemed friend or relative, and the remarks of 
some members of Congress, on the romance of his 
life, and the prodigality of his pay. At length, 
from some less healthy clime, he enters a salubrious 
port, but is put under a quarantine of forty days, 
and cannot even get a note to the town, without 
having it first steeped in fire and brimstone. This 
is intolerable, — he weighs anchor, puts to sea, and 
in his cruise reaches another port, and enters ; but 
the yellow fever or cholera enters his ship. It is 
now too late to fly, and death to remain. Through 
the wearisome night, he can hear only the moaning 
of the sick, and the passage of the dead over his 
ship's side, — the fatal symptoms are upon him, — he 
orders his coffin to be made, — dictates a brief letter 
to his wife, — bids his messmates adieu, — and dies ! 

If there be romance in such a life as this, it is 
not that kind of romance which takes one away 
from the toils and troubles of a real world, into a 
fairy region of perpetual smile and sunshine ; and 
if there be a prodigal compensation allowed to such 



ROCK OF LISBON. 105 

a life, it is not that prodigality of reward, which 
enables one to provide for the wants of his widow 
and orphans. The testament of an officer in the 
navy, who has no means of accumulation except his 
pay, has usually as little gold at its disposal as the 
last article in the will of a Palestine pilgrim. He 
can bequeath his good name — the memory of 
his virtues — and it is only to be regretted, that 
these cannot contain the essential elements of life. 

Ye that are on land, leave not the safe, substan- 
tial earth ; and when the pitiless storm raves around 
your snug dwelling, turn a thought to the poor 
sailor, tost on this howling waste, with only a 
plank hetween him and eternity; and in your 
evening devotions, commend him to the protection of 
that Being who " rides on the tempest and directs the 
storm," and who can say to the chainless ocean, 
" Hitherto shalt thou come, and no further, and here 
shall thy proud waves be staid." 

It was past mid-day when the rock of Lisbon 
broke from a mass of clouds that hung densely over 
our larboard bow. There was nothing remarkably 
bold or towering in the aspect of this rock, and yet 
to me it was full of thrilling interest. It was my 
first glance of Europe, — the first object seen in that 
old world, whose nations had risen to power and 
splendor, and gone down to their mighty sepul- 
chres, while America was yet a stranger to the map 



106 PILOT. 

of the globe, and before it had even floated on the 
dream of a conjecturing Columbus. 

Owing to the faintness of the breeze, it was seve- 
ral hours before we could require or obtain a pilot ; 
a signal gun at length brought one on board ; he 
was a meagre, narrow, and ghastly looking fellow ; 
if old Charon be dead, he should be his successor ; 
for he would appear much more appropriately occu- 
pied in ferrying the dead, than piloting the living. 
He at first refused to take us in that evening, de- 
claring the night too near at hand, and the wind 
from the wrong point of the compass ; but threw 
out a blunt hint, as he passed below, that a glass of 
brandy would enable him to overcome these obsta- 
cles. Thus braced and conciliated, he returned to 
the deck, ordered sail to be made, and manifested 
the craft of his profession by an affected escape of 
difficulties, which never existed, and an exhibition of 
knowledge, for which there was no possible demand. 
Moving up the Tagus, we found the U. S. sloop of 
war John Adams, commanded by Capt. Storer, 
lying at anchor, in quarantine. The crew, as we 
passed, gave us a hearty cheer, — a welcome which 
our tars cordially returned. We came to anchor 
opposite the royal palace Ajuda, about two miles 
below the town. 

The Tagus is a noble river, deep and broad, 
and its wave has that rich yellow tinge, which has 



TAGUS. 107 

made poets sing of it, as ever " rolling its golden 
sand." The heights on the right bank, as you look 
up the stream, are broken into conical hills, and co- 
vered with a profusion of quintas and villages ; on 
the left stands Lisbon, coming down with its white 
dwelling, churches and convents, on an easy sweep, 
to the lapping waters. Around the quay shot up a 
forest of masts bearing the flags of different nations ; 
while a little more remote, reposed at this time three 
ships of the line, and two frigates, under the " proud 
ensign of Brittania ;" nearer to us lay two frigates, 
bearing the tri-colored banner of chivalric France ; 
and two ships of the same class, with the white field 
and central crown of the king of Portugal ; while the 
light felucas of the natives were in all directions 
cutting the broad stream. 

As the shadows of evening deepened over us, the 
frequent rocket was seen darting through its path- 
way of flame, and now and then, a long, loud cheer 
came floating on the wind. These demonstrations 
of pleasure were in honor of our arrival, and convey- 
ed a compliment equally unusual and unexpected. 
It seems we are in great favor with the multitude, 
who threw up their caps for Don Miguel ; this is 
in consequence of having so early recognized their 
king, but our acknowledgments of this kind, if 
rightly understood, would go but little way in esta- 
blishing a man's title to the crown. We never sift 
the question of right, but give in our diplomatic 



108 THRONE. 

adhesion to whatever may be on the throne, whether 
it be Don Miguel, or the devil. This is undoubtedly 
our true policy ; for if we, with our republican edu- 
cation, were to attempt to settle the question of legi- 
timacy, we should soon find ourselves in the pre- 
dicament of the school-boy, who attempted to solve 
a problem by the rule of three, without having first 
made himself familiar with the simple rules of mul- 
tiplication and division. 



CHAPTER X. 

Lisbon— Cabriolets— Postillion— Madame Julia's Hotel— A Parti- 
san Merchant— Alcantra Aqueduct— Church of St. Roque — 
Mosaics— Q,ueen Maria First — Church of St. Domingo — Statue 
of King Joseph — The Earthquake — Inquisition. 

No one left the ship last evening. This morn- 
ing at an early hour, Mr. C. and myself landed 
down the stream, at Belem castle — an old feebly 
mounted fortress, and took a cabriolet for Lisbon. 
Every thing around, convinced us at once that we 
were in a foreign land, and among a people where 
the march of improvement had long been pausing. 
The vehicle in which we were trundled along, was 
one of those rude contrivances, which might be 
classed among the nrst triumphs of civilization. It 
was a clumsy affair, moving on two heavy wheels, 
with a massive body, hanging stiffly down to the 
creaking axle, and u pondrous top, supported by 
rough iron stanchions, with a window on each side, 
and a thick moveable leather curtain in front. It 
was drawn by two old worn out horses, moving 
abreast ; one in the long beamy thills, the other out- 
side, mounted by a postillion, whose appearance was 
quite in keeping with his charge. His large dingy 
hat was cocked up closely over each ear — his 

10 



110 BUENOS AYRES. 

straight, pendulous cue hung far down his shoulders 
— his coat was pinched and high in the waist, while 
its little narrow flaps struggled hard to reach the 
stern of his saddle ; and his jappaned boots, armed 
with a pair of enormous spurs, mounted so high up 
the lank leg as to let the knee well into the gaping 
top. His whip, which made up for the brevity of 
its stock in the length of its lash, he ever cracked 
ahead of his animals ; and on such an occasion, he 
usually cocked his eye around to us, with that 
peculiar look in which one expresses his sense of 
the dignity and importance of his occupation. 

On our asking him, if these were the only vehi- 
cles used here, he replied, with rather an offended air, 
" It is the only one in which a gentleman rides," 
and then gave his whip another crack far ahead. 
So, being satisfied our establishment was not as 
ridiculous in the eyes of others, as our own, we 
moved on. Passing through a long series of nar- 
row, dirty streets, with here and there a huge con- 
vent towering above the visible poverty below, we 
reached Buenos Ayres, a suburb of Lisbon, posses- 
sing some claims to neatness and comfort. We 
here called on our Charge d'Affairs, Mr. Brent, 
whose long and successful services have given him 
an eminent station in the confidence of his country. 
He is almost the only diplomatic agent, who has not 
been displaced by the spirit of change, that has of 
late fallen upon our public counsels. Having 



MADAM JULIA. Ill 

delivered the despatches of our government, and 
made a few inquiries respecting the political fea- 
tures of Portugal, we took leave, and jogged along 
into the city, meeting io almost every street an 
armed patroll, who were universally civil on de- 
tecting our American uniform. 

Our next call was on our consul, or rather his 
agent — the consul himself being absent at Paris. 
Among other inquiries, we made one for the most 
convenient and respectable hotel ; and were recom- 
mended to Madam Julia's, as possessing by far the 
highest claims. So dismissing our knight of the 
cabriolet, we walked on in search of Madam Julia's 
hotel, the Dutch characteristics of which we soon 
discovered in the antic tricks of two monkies, and 
the incessant prattle of a parrot, upon its porch. 
We found our hostess a thick-set, dumpy, Dutch 
woman, with a broad, red face, and a tongue equally 
voluble in a vast many languages. She assured me, 
within ten minutes after crossing her threshold, 
that she could speak the dead languages, as well as 
the living. I felt no disposition to test her know- 
ledge of Latin and Greek, for I was already over- 
whelmed with her torrent of broken English. I 
told her we would thank her for our dinners soon 
as practicable ; but before I had finished my brief 
request, she broke in, by asking if I could speak the 
Hebrew — u that first great language of all the world." 
I replied by requesting our dinner, as we were in 



112 MEAGER DINNER. 

haste. She suggested that I might, perhaps, speak 
the Arabic— "that language in which Mahomet 
wrote the Koran — an excellent language, but a bad 
book." I insisted on the dinner first, and a discus- 
sion of the relative merits of the different languages 
afterwards. This partially satisfied her, and she 
waddled off through a large oaken door towards 
the kitchen. 

In about an hour, which we lounged away upon 
a huge sofa, covered with venerable dust, our dinner 
was formally announced ; and though neither of us 
ever had the character of being a gourmand, yet we 
were a little vexed upon discovering on the table, 
in meats, only a little poor boiled chicken ; in vege- 
tables, only a plate of hard peas ; and in fruits, only 
three or four sour oranges. But the time, even 
occupied in making way with these meager trifles, 
was evidently very long to Madam Julia, who was 
impatiently anticipating the classical discussion at 
its close. Nor could she wholly restrain herself till 
that time ; but as we were picking some bone of the 
chicken, or sucking the acidity from an orange, 
remarked upon its peculiarities in some strange, 
unknown dialect. On rising from the table, we 
asked for our bill. " Did you say," returned our 
hostess, " that the languages spoken now-a-days, 
are to be compared to those spoken by the ancients ?" 
We replied — "We are now, madam, on our way to 
the very place where the ancients lived, where we 



PARTISAN MERCHANT. 113 

shall pick up all the little notions we can respecting 
them ; and upon our return, should we call at 
Lisbon, will tell you all we can gather about the 
matter, and in the mean, we will thank you for our 
bill." " My charge," she murmured, " is six dollars ; 
Lord G. has lately been paying me two guineas a 
day for my table, and some instructions in the lan- 
guages." We handed her the moderate sum de- 
manded, and bade her good bye, while she followed 
us quite out the door, requesting us not to forget 
the literary hotel of Madam Julia. 

The next place at which we called, was the 
store of a Portuguese merchant, where we inquired 
for a few ready articles ; but before they were 
handed down, the keeper drawing close to us whis- 
pered in our ear : " Can you tell me any thing 
about the movements of Don Pedro." We replied, 
" At our last advices, he was about embarking from 
St. Michel's, with his collected forces." " And how 
strong does he number?" he whispered again. We 
told him, — " From our best information, about seven 
or eight thousand." His countenance brightened. 
" And how long do you think before he will reach 
here ?" he continued to whisper. We observed — 
" The wind is now very fresh and fair, and for matter 
of that, he may be here in a few days.'' " And have 
you come to aid Miguel?" he inquired earnestly. 
" No, that is no part of our business here." He 
grasped us by the hand, and expressed in his look a, 

10* 



114 EFFECTS OF DESPOTISM. 

satisfaction, which language could not convey. We 
asked him, " How stand the political parties in Lis- 
bon ?" He at first clapped his finger on his lip, and 
after a pause, breathed half audibly — "Very well for 
Pedro." We inquired, " How are the more wealthy, 
intelligent, and influential classes affected." He 
whispered mournfully — " Those who have not 
been put to death, are in banishment, or the dun- 
geon." We purchased our articles, and bade him 
adieu ; congratulating ourselves that we were born 
in a land, where it is not treason for a man to speak 
his political sentiments. How miserable must be 
the condition of that country, where one man can 
tie up the very breath of millions ! Freedom is the 
sacred birthright of man, and yet he is plundered of 
it by every petty despot that can reach a throne ! 

Mr. C, with myself, took a cabriolet this morn- 
ing to ride out and see a celebrated section of the 
Alcantra aqueduct. Midshipman L. being present, 
we pressed him to take a seat with us ; for these 
primeval machines can easily accommodate three, 
especially of our dimensions. This introduction of 
a third person roused the indignation of the postil- 
lion ; he jumped from his saddle, and lustily swore 
he would not stir an inch. We remained firm in our 
seats waiting for his choler to subside. After half 
an hour or so, he grumly remounted and moved 
off in a slow walk ; but even this was not gained 
till he had been severely rebuked by one of the 



SULKY POSTILLION. 115 

police, and we had promised an additional compen- 
sation. 

The pertinacious obstinacy of these men is 
incredible. Two of our officers sent the other 
morning from Madam Julia's Hotel for a cabriolet, 
and after waiting an hour and a half without seeing 
any signs of its coming, commenced their excursion 
on foot. Soon after their departure the vehicle arrived. 
The postillion was informed by the hostess, that the 
gentlemen, wearied out with waiting, had left, and 
would not return till evening ; but he remained 
firm at the door, declaring he would not stir till he 
had been paid for his services. Through the hot 
day he lounged about his horses, knocking off the 
flies, and at dusk when the officers returned, per- 
emptorily demanded his hire for the day. For the 
sake of peace, they offered him half the price de- 
manded, which he indignantly refused, and re- 
mained at the door till ten at night. Early the 
next morning he took his stand at the door again, 
and now demanded full pay for his second day's 
services. He remained there till noon, when upon 
Madam Julia's suggesting, that as she sent for the 
cabriolet, she might be held responsible for its 
charges, the affair was settled by paying the whole 
price demanded. 

To return to our team. Our sulky postillion 
would not move out of a walk. We threatened to 
leave him, and take it on foot ; but it had no effect. 



116 ALCANTRA AQUEDUCT. 

I menaced his head with a massive stone, but he sat 
on his saddle with the most fixed, imperturable 
obstinacy. I have no doubt he would have been 
killed, or " made desperate fight," sooner than put 
his horses into a trot. This is a fair specimen of 
the mulish obstinacy of an offended Portuguese. 
When he can have his own way, he is remarkably 
kind and conciliating; but when thwarted, nothing 
can appease or coerce him. He is ardent in love, 
and terrible in resentment. Take him in a good 
humor, and you may coax him out of his life ; but 
offended with you, he would see you sink to forty 
graves, without stirring a hand for your rescue. 

We at last reached the object of our curiosity — 
the great aqueduct of Alcantra. It is truly a mag- 
nificent work, stretching across a deep valley of 
three-quarters of a mile, and sustained by thirty-five 
arches, the centre one of which is two hundred 
and seventy feet in height — the highest arch in the 
world. The aqueduct itself has the appearance of 
a majestic substantial gallery, running along high 
in air, with its white walls, open windows, close 
roof, and frequent turrets; while the water sweeps 
through it in two sparkling currents, leaving a space 
between, where three may move abreast. To the 
outside of each wall is attached another ample 
walk, defended by a balustrade, and supported 
upon the lofty arches. The stupendous character 
of this work would lead one to suppose, that the 



CHURCH OF ST. ROGtUE. 117 

Portuguese, at the time of its construction, must 
have been ignorant of the first principles of hydrau- 
lics ; but this was not the case. They were per- 
fectly aware that water will recover its level, and 
that an aqueduct laid under the surface of the 
ground, would answer every essential purpose of 
one reposing on the most sublime sweep of arches. 
But they must have something that will strike the 
eye — something that will please the vanity of the 
multitude — something lofty and monumental. I 
was informed by a very intelligent gentleman, who 
has long been a resident in Portugal, that if this 
nation were now to construct an extended aqueduct, 
instead of using simple pipes placed in the earth, 
they would have it run from one height to another, 
upon a magnificent range of arches. But a nation, 
like an individual, will have its age, decrepitude, 
and folly. 

On our return, 'we stopped at the church of St. 
Roque, where we discharged our sulky postillion 
and his concern, with three dollars. We found a 
priest at the porch ready to wait upon us. He 
conducted us slowly up through a dense multitude 
kneeling in the nave — for it was some saint's 
day — to a small chapel dedicated to John the 
Baptist. The embellishments of this sacred alcove, 
adorned by the treasury of John Fifth, display a 
rich profusion of precious marble, amethyst, por- 
phery, jasper, lapis-lazuli, and verd antique. But 



118 QUEEN MARIA. 

the objects of greatest interest and admiration, are 
three pictures, representing the Annunciation, the 
Baptism, and the Pentecost, in exquisite mosaic. 
They have a softness and warmth of coloring, a 
melting delicacy of tint and shade, which I did not 
suppose it possible for this kind of work, in its high- 
est perfection, to reach. Three huge candlesticks 
of solid silver stand in front of the jewelled altar ; 
and it is astonishing that they have escaped being 
coined, in the present disasters and poverty of Por- 
tugal. The rest of the church has nothing re- 
markably attractive or imposing ; so handing our 
priest a crown for his politeness, we took our leave. 
Our next resting place was in the church of 
Coracao de Jesus, built by dueen Maria First, in 
the form of a cross, of small dimensions, and sur- 
mounted by a dome. This crazy queen believed 
she had come in actual possession of the heart of 
our Saviour ; and reared this church as a monu- 
mental shrine, befitting the last deposit of this pre- 
cious trust. The pope discountenanced this article 
in the creed of her religious insanity ; but as he 
could not "administer to a mind diseased," permit- 
ted her to indulge her fanatical whims. It is not 
strange that in a church, where every thing spirit- 
ual is materialized, and embodied, and worshipped, 
that these wild aberations from truth and reason 
should occur. It is a greater wonder that heaven 
itself is not mapped in some quarter of the globe, 



STATUE OF JOSEPH. 119 

and laid down to feet and inches in fixed lines. 
But pluck the beam from thine own eye. 

Our next call was at the church of St. Domin- 
go, which, in architectural display, is perhaps the 
finest in Lisbon. The walls with their marble 
pilasters, unbroken by a gallery, and sweeping up 
to the lofty ceiling, have an imposing effect, In 
the centre of the nave, is a representation of our 
Saviour, fainting under the cross. Of the many 
who came and went, while we were there, most of 
them kneeled and kissed the foot of this statue. 
The paintings over the altars, are some of them 
happily conceived, and executed with a tolerable 
degree of taste. In this church the royal family 
attend mass, which they do once a year, on Corpus 
Christi day. Their piety cannot, therefore, be said 
to be of the most ostentatious kind; though the 
extensive orchestra is now being fitted up for this 
annual occasion. Kings and their subjects, masters 
and slaves, find a common level in two places — the 
foot of the cross, and the grave. 

The next place at which we brought up, to use 
a professional term, was the Placo de Commercio, 
in the centre of which stands the equestrian statue 
of King Joseph. The attitude of the statue is exces- 
sively extravagant: it looks like ambition overleaping 
itself; and the clumsy allegorical figures, grouped 
around and beneath the feet of the horse, add to this 
Hotspur expression. I wonder an equestrian statue 



120 THE EARTHQUAKE. 

cannot be tolerated, without having the fore feet of 
the charger raised as high as if he were attempting 
to leap into the moon. Why not put him on his 
four feet, where nature puts him. But if this will 
not do, let him paw the ground ; and if any thing 
more is necessary to express his impetuosity, let him 
foam at the impatient bit ; but do not heave up his 
fore parts, till you are in the painful apprehension 
that he will land on his stern and crush his rider. 
This is not a horse rushing into battle, or out of it ; 
nor is it one lightly prancing in the gay tourna- 
ment. 

From this place, we rambled to that section of 
the city, which was most disastrously visited by the 
earthquake. The remains of temples, palaces and 
towers still totter over the fatal spot ; yet amid 
these ghastly ruins, where every thing seems to 
portend disaster, many an elegant dwelling has 
been reared, where hearts are now gay over the 
graves of their fathers. Perhaps it is a felicitous 
provision of our nature, that we can feel secure and 
be happy, where others have perished unwarned. 
The earth itself is but one vast sepulchre ; every 
thing that regales the taste, or animates the eye, 
springs from corruption. The very breeze, that is 
music on our ear, has been loaded with the groans 
of millions. We should recollect, in our exulting 
pride, that we are not exempt from the laws of mor- 
tality, or that gloomy forgetfulness which hovers 



INQUISITION. 121 

over the realms of death. Though we should sink 
in the ingulfing shock of the earthquake, or the 
burning flood of a volcano, yet thousands will live 
and smile amid the frightful monuments of our 
ruin. The sounds of merriment and revelry have 
gone up for ages over the tombs of Herculaneum. 
The catastrophe which destroyed the fairest 
portion of Lisbon, would have been less destructive 
of life, had the population remained in their dwell- 
ings, or fled to some more open places, instead of 
rushing into their churches. These huge piles 
were the first to fall, and the escape of a solitary 
individual could have been little less than miracu- 
lous. If one is to die, it may be desirable, perhaps, 
to undergo the dread event within the sacred asso- 
ciations of the sanctuary. But if one wishes to 
escape destruction, in an hour when his own dwell- 
ing begins to heave to and fro, it is the last refuge 
he should seek. Yet in all Catholic countries, the 
first impulse is to get within the pictured presence 
of a patron saint, or of the blessed Virgin, as if these 
dependent beings had the power to suspend the 
action of an earthquake. Far be it from me though 
to trifle with the sentiment, which expresses itself in 
this form ; ignorance, unless it be willful, is not a 
crime. But the disaster which befell this city, in 
all the ruin of its work, had one alleviating feature, 
it sunk the Inquisition — that upper hell of intolerant 
bigotry, and fanatical vengeance ! Let a man's 
11 



122 FORCED FAITH. 

creed rest between his conscience and his God, 
Give him all the lights of information in your 
power, but do not torture him into a confession of 
your particular tenets. There are no engines of 
belief in heaven, nor in the world of untold sorrows. 
The arch-apostate finds no redeeming creed, await- 
ing his burning signature. Compulsion in a man's 
faith, is like force in his will, they both violate our 
most sacred rights ; and the assent which they 
compel, is as destitute of virtuous merit, as the 
yielding of one's purse to a robber. Such violence 
will always in the end, re-act on its source, — the 
robber will be sent to the gallows, and the inquisi- 
tion to the devil. 

But enough of this rambling. We called at 
Madam Julia's at six o'clock, where we had be- 
spoken a dinner, and sat down to a plate of pea-soup, 
a slice of broiled veal, and a few poor oranges ; for 
which we paid eight dollars. It was in vain to 
question the equity of her bill, unless you were pre- 
pared to carry on the dispute in all the languages, 
into which our great mother tongue was split, at 
the tower of Babel. If it be wondered why we 
patronized Madam Julia, in her barren table and 
exorbitant demands, the true answer is that there is 
not a respectable hotel in all Lisbon. Hers, with 
its monkies, parrot, and confusion of countless dia- 
lects, is after all the most decent. She followed us 
again quite out the door, descanting on the profu- 



MADAM JULIA. 123 

sions of her table, the beauty of her parrot, and the 
freshness of the classics, and enjoining it upon us 
not to forget her and her hotel. Forget thee ?— 
dear woman ! — not till all the dead languages have 
been forgotten, and the living have ceased to be 
spoken ! — not till a chicken, that has perished of 
inanition, be nutritious as one, fattened at the tray ! 
— not till an orange, eaten up of its own ascidity, be 
palatable as one, with its sweet juices gushing 
through its yellow rind ! Forget thee ? never! — 

I'll think of thee, thy parrot and hotel, 

Whene'er I see a lank, voracious shark, 
Darting about all day from swell to swell, 

And missing every where his flying mark'; 
Till — finding his last hope and effort fail — 
He turns upon himself, and eats his tail I 

I'll think of thee, thy parrot, and hotel, 

Whene'er I see a starving crow half dead — ■ 
Rattling his bones, and willing now to sell 

His very soul— if soul he had— for bread ; 
And croaking his despair, in every tongue, 
That grief or madness from the lip hatfi wrung ! 

I'll think of thee, thy parrot and hotel, 

Whene'er I see a haggard miser die, — 
Half feeing him, who is to toll the bell, 

And narrowing down the grave where he must lie ; 
Nor caring whether his departing knell, 
Follow his spirit's flight to heaven or hell I 



CHAPTER XI. 



Excursion to Cintra— Scenery^— Marialva Villa— Peter's Prison— 
Penha Convent— Royal Palace— Visit to Mafra Castle— Its Ex- 
. tent— Richness— Singular Origin— Return to Lisbon. 



A party of us left the ship this morning for 
Cintra — that little paradise of Portugal. We char- 
tered for the occasion three cabriolets, provided with 
stout mules, and four saddle horses. Thus seated 
and mounted, we left the city by the Alcantra sub- 
urbs, and soon emerged into a country of an ex- 
tremely light soil, with here and there a conical 
hill, upon which was posted one of Don Quixotte's 
windmills. It was not, after all, so strange that 
this valorous knight should have waged mortal 
combat, with these formidable things of earth and 
air, for they look vastly more like brandishing giants 
than machines merely for grinding corn. I will 
defy any one to look at them for the first time, 
throwing their strong arms about in the mysteries 
of twilight, and not feel for the hilt of his trusty 
blade. And then, it should be remembered, that 
Don was just establishing his character for courage 
and chivalrous devotion, and felt it incumbent ont 



EXCURSION. 125 

him to attack every thing that came in so ques- 
tionable a shape. Let Don alone ; he was not so 
great a fool as some of his self-styled betters would 
make him ; he was a little on the extreme ; but one 
half the fighting in the world hath a less show of 
reason in it. 

On our way we passed Queluz, one of the royal 
palaces, standing near the road, with extensive 
and cool gardens in the rear. The building itself 
is long, low and without any architectural preten- 
sions. A number of troops were paraded in front; 
who showed in the promptitude and crankness of 
their movements, that they were defending the 
person of their king. A soldier guarding a mon- 
arch, and a boy in charge of a baboon, are always 
full of pomp and circumstance. A few miles further 
brought us to a wine and bread shop, where our 
postillions brought suddenly up, declaring it impos- 
sible for man or beast to go further without refresh- 
ment. Our horses were baited on coarse bread, 
saturated with wine — their grooms on the same 
articles; — rather a dainty provender, whatever it may 
have been as a lunch. We now resumed our seats, 
urging to a quicker pace our anti-temperance 
team. 

The heights of Cintra slowly appeared in soft 

romantic relief on the sky ; and the country, as we 

advanced, gradually assumed an aspect of richer 

verdure. As we wound around a steep, obstructing 

11* 



126 CINTRA. 

elevation, the sweet village of Cintra appeared 
nestled in the drapery of a wild woodland, about 
half way up the " mountain of its home." The very 
look of its freshness seemed to melt into one's heart. 
It was like a green bower, on an arid waste, under 
a scorching sky. We stopped at the hotel of De 
Costa — a house finely in keeping with the place. 
We had been over five hours on the road, though 
the distance is but eighteen miles. This is a fine 
specimen of Portuguese rapidity. 

After an hour's repose, and a grateful refresh- 
ment, we rambled to the palace of the Marquis of 
Marial va — an elegant and spacious structure, with 
grounds rather confined, but concentrating a good 
degree of beauty and variety. This villa is cele- 
brated for the convention, in which the French sti- 
pulated with Wellington to evacuate Portugal. The 
ink which Junot scattered in his indignant reluc- 
tance, as he put his hand to the instrument, still 
stains the floor. Silence now reigns unbroken, in 
its spacious halls ; the Marialva line, so celebrated 
in Gil Bias, has become extinct. Nobles in death 
have but one advantage over their vassals, and that 
is the unenviable privilege of living in the sarcastic 
wit of an author. 

We now ascended to the Penha Verd duinta 
of the celebrated Don John de Castro, who only 
asked of his sovereign this elevation, in consideration 
of all* his privations, perils and conquests in India. 



127 

So his tomb-stone, on the summit declares ; and this 
sentinel of death, for once I believe, speaks the 
truth, We have in the present case no great occa- 
sion to doubt its veracity, for of all situations in 
Portugal, this is universally acknowledged to be the 
most beautiful and enchanting. We paused for a 
moment in a sweet garden of lilies, tastefully distri- 
buted in parterres of box. 

We were then taken to what our guide called St. 
Peter in prison. The dungeon is here a cool grotto, 
lined with variegated shells, and refreshened with a 
sparkling fountain. The saint is represented in 
marble, with the chain still clinging to him ; but so 
quiet, romantic, and wildly attractive is his situation, 
that no one of any taste would think of running 
away from it. Instead of a sentiment of commise- 
ration, you cannot repress the desire to exchange 
conditions with the captive. Higher up, a thick 
forest of cork, pine, elm, myrtle, orange and lemon 
cast their deep fragrant shade. We here lost our- 
selves in a labyrinth of paths, and a dense maze of 
underwood, cut by these irregular alleys, into every 
variety of shape. We emerged at the tomb of the 
hero, which stands on a high airy rock, over- 
looking Cintra, and commanding an extensive 
view of the ocean as it rolls its world of waters 
beyond. 

Upon the very summit of the range, we found 
the conspicuous remains of a Moorish castle, with 



128 PENHA CONVENT. 

the noble lank still in a state of high preservation. 
Near by, on the same height, stands the Penha con- 
vent, which one might suppose, must have got here, 
as our lady's chapel got through the yielding air, to 
Loretto ; or its materials must have been taken up 
before balloons became the frail and feeble things 
that we now find them. This convent was plun- 
dered by the French. Nothing in height or depth 
seems to have escaped their rapacity; yet these 
gentlemen of love and pillage, robed with such an 
exquisite politeness, that even their victims appear 
to hold them in the most gentle recollection. In our 
descent, upon arriving at a more even and thickly 
shaded spot, we encountered three lusty beggars, 
who had come with two guitars and a fiddle, to 
give us a concert : we paid them in advance and 
passed on. At six, we reached our hotel, and sat 
down to an excellent dinner. 

Upon rising from the table some took to the lux- 
ury of the siesta, while a few of us improved the 
lingering light in a visit to the old Royal Palace. 
We found here no guard, no king, not even a sprig 
of nobility, but a polite old porter, happy to show us 
every thing, for the sake of his fee. He pointed out 
the room where Sebastian held his last counsel, pre- 
vious to his fatal expedition to Africa ; and seemed 
unwilling to believe that he would never return ! 
He pointed out the room, where King Alonzo Sixth 
was imprisoned, and the pavement in which his soli- 



BYRON. 129 

tary steps have left a deep track, and then descanted 
upon it with a sorrowful earnestness, that almost 
flooded one's eyes. On our return to the hotel, we 
found the yard full of women and children, with a 
thousand little articles of their own fabrication to 
sell. We purchased a multitude of them, not 
from any want of the articles, or that they could 
be of the slightest use ; but a man is always more 
charitable in a foreign country than he is in his 
own. 

The evening passed off in easy pleasantries 
and we retired at a late hour to rest, Captain Reed, 
as the Agamemnon of the party, to that chamber 
which Byron occupied, on his visit to this place. 
It was here the youthful poet nourished those feel- 
ings, which subsequently flowed off in a current of 
sorrowful harmony, that will live till grief and me- 
lody have ceased to affect man. The chain of sym- 
pathy, which binds him to the profound sensibilities 
of our nature, can never be broken. He had all 
the elements of poetic power, in the most exalted 
degree ; and if he failed of reaching his noblest 
destiny, it may be ascribed, in some measure, to 
that singular fatality, which seems ever to attend 
a consciousness of great force, and originality of 
genius, but more to the want of a deep abiding sense 
of the responsibility, which such rare gifts, and such 
a sway over the human heart impose. Had he pos- 
sessed this, it would have saved him — sustained him 



130 MAFRA CASTLE. 

in his lofty career — nor left us as much to weep and 
shudder over as admire : — 

But he betrayed his trust, and lent his gift 
Of glorious faculties, to blight and mar 

The moral universe, and set adrift 
The anchored hopes of millions :— Thus the star 

Of his eventful destiny, became 

A wild and wandering orb of fearful flame. 

That orb hath set ; yet still its lurid light 
Flashes above the broad horizon's verge ; 

As if some comet, plunging from its height, 
Should pause upon the ocean's boiling surge, 

And in defiance of its darksome doom, 

Light for itself a fierce volcanic tomb ! 

The morning of our second day at Cintra, found 
us mounted upon a pack of hugely saddled and cush- 
ioned donkies, on our way to Mafra castle. The 
distance is nine miles, over a road as intolerable as 
one can well imagine ; we were more than three 
hours getting through it, but were amply compen- 
sated in the end, for all our back and leg-breaking 
toils. Mafra has been justly called the Escurial of 
Portugal ; its proportions are all upon a lofty mag- 
nificent scale ; it contains a splendid palace, an ex- 
tensive convent, and a church of cathedral dimen- 
sions. I can almost believe, as Murphy informs us, 
that from fifteen to twenty thousand men were em- 
ployed, for thirteen years in its erection and com- 
pletion. The church is lined and paved with mar- 
ble ; it contains nine altars, of a reflecting polish, 
glowing with jewels, and surrounded with statues ; 
and six organs, the beauty of which, is equaled only 
by their richness of tone. I was never so sensible 



PALACE AND LIBRARY. 131 

of the aid, which devotion may derive from exter- 
nal realities, as when standing in the vast solitude of 
this church, with its lofty dome, its twilight gloom, 
and the solemn anthem of the organs filling and 
moving the whole, with a profound majestic melody. 
The palace is as magnificently ample, as one 
would suppose an emperor of the world might de- 
sire. We were shown the luxurious couch, upon 
which the monarch may seek in vain that repose, 
which the cabined slave freshly enjoys. The mar- 
ble font, which almost invades the regal couch, can 
contain no purer water, than the peasant finds in 
the brook that murmurs past his humble cottage; 
and the mirrors with their smooth, broad expanse, 
which line the royal apartments, cannot present 
more perfectly one's second self, than the tranquil 
stream into which Eve first looked and " timidly 
withdrew." The Convent is sufficiently ample to 
contain all the monks of a moderate realm ; but the 
stillness of the apartments is broken only here and 
there, by the steps of the solitary. The library, in 
its spacious hall of some hundred feet, casts at once 
its fifty thousand volumes on the eye. The specta- 
tor stands literally overwhelmed with the learning of 
the dead. Few of the books are in English ; most 
of the ancient classics may be seen, while a great 
many of them are on ecclesiastical subjects, whose 
authors have long since gone to the reality of their 
devout conjectures. 



132 ORIGIN OF THE CASTLE. 

On ascending to the top of this vast edifice, we 
found an area wide enough to furnish footing for a 
military force, adequate to the defence of the whole. 
While here, we were favored with a concerto from 
fifty of the one hundred and twenty bells, which swing 
in the towers. The music of these reeling organs 
might awaken the multitudes of a slumbering city 
to their matins : but there is no such city near, to 
be thus musually aroused. Mafra stands in the 
midst of a desert ; a few humble huts only break 
the sterile solitude. This vast pile, in all its rich- 
ness and magnificence, was reared and furnished on 
the sanctity and force of a conjectural dream. The 
king was informed, in his desponding hopes of an 
heir to his throne, that his wishes might be realized, 
by founding and endowing a convent here. Thus 
were the foundations laid ; the future monarch soon 
made his appearance, and the king, regarding this 
as a divine interposition and sanction, the work 
went on, till the stupendous whole, with convent, 
church and palace, were completed. Never did the 
prediction of a monk cost his sovereign more. 
Whether, as scandal reports, the prophet was con- 
cerned in the fulfillment of his childish prediction 
is more than I can say ; but surely it was an ex- 
tremely expensive babe to Portugal. The castle, 
with all its appendages, is as much lost to the 
realm and the world, as it would be, if it were 
located in the desart of Sahara. It is here visited 



RETURN TO CINTRA. 133 

only by the curious traveler, and it would there 
catch occasionally the glance of a passing caravan. 

After the refreshments of a crust of bread and a 
glass of sour wine, furnished in a sort of hovel — 
the only inn-accommodations of which the place can 
boast — we started, in a drenching shower, for Cintra. 
Mrs. R. had fortunately been able to get the loan of 
a large coarse cloak, in which, with the courteous 
assistance of Lieutenant C. she wrapped herself, into 
the semblance of a sister of the strictest order. Her 
transformation was so sudden and entire, as she 
appeared thus hooded and swathed, and holding on 
in the drifting rain, to a little sorry donkey, not 
larger than a good sized sheep, that I could not at 
first, though in a most pitiable plight myself, pre- 
serve my gravity of countenance. Nothing but the 
irresistable force of this sentiment of the ludicrous, 
saved it from an appearance of rudeness. But the 
value of a diamond is not the less for being sprink- 
led with dust, or dashed with mud. 

Cintra never appeared more sweet and beautiful, 
than as we approached it on our return. Some por- 
tions of its ascending range were covered with the 
shadows of a passing cloud, while others smiled 
out in the clear light of a warm sun. The cascade, 
now freshly replenished by the shower, came leap- 
ing down from cliff to cliff, with life and joy in its 
motion and voice : here the bold rock broke into 
stronger relief, with its moss-covered front ; there 

12 



134 PORTUGUESE OFFICERS. 

the elm and cork threw out their giant limbs ; 
while upon elevations of a gentler genius, clusters of 
neat cottages were seen, embowered in vines : 
higher up, and more in keeping with the majesty of 
the spot, the princely villa, surrounded with forest 
trees, presented a portion of its stately walls, or the 
white range of its gleaming pillars ; aud over the 
whole, a warm, soft tint was sprinkled, which 
seemed to blend itself into the varied beauty of the 
scene. Cintra is the Eden of this realm — Mafra a 
stupendous monument of its superstitious folly. 

The morning of our third day at Cintra was 
overcast; and frequent showers determined us to 
defer our ruturn to Lisbon till the evening. In the 
mean time we formed a passing accidental acquaint- 
ance with two Portuguese officers, of rank and 
accomplishments, who were temporary lodgers with 
our excellent landlord. They were gentlemen of 
the lyre as well as sword. One of them touched 
the guitar with the hand of a master, and the other 
had eminently the sweet gifts of a melodious voice. 
They played and sung at intervals for an hour or 
two, in compliment to Mrs. R., who returned the 
obligation by a few Italian airs in her best style. 
We invited them to dine with us ; and among 
other topics which floated around, was one calcu- 
lated to detect their political leaning. They were 
asked with a profound affectation of ignorance, 
what could be the object of the English in sending, 



RETURN TO LISBON. 135 

at this particular time, so large a naval force to the 
Tagus. One of them promptly replied, that the 
English were remarkably fond of the comedy, and 
understanding that one was to be acted at Lisbon, 
they had come to witness it. Never was there an 
answer, upon which a man's life may perhaps have 
depended, more quick or guarded, than this. Such 
men will never lose their heads, whatever may be 
the result of the quarrel between Miguel and his 
brother. And they are right ; I would as soon 
peril my life upon a question, of the comparative 
strength of the square or triangle construction of a 
cob-house, as that of legitimacy in sovereigns. 

Taking leave of our worthy landlord, whom 
with his ever cheerful wife, agreeable house, and 
well-furnished table, I would recommend to all tra- 
velers, we started on our return to Lisbon. We 
arrived quite late in the evening, and put up at 
Madam Julia's hotel. The monkey had ceased his 
pranks, the parrot was silent, and even Madam 
Julia herself did not seem to speak in so many lan- 
guages as usual. This was owing probably to the 
fact, that even the tongue is not entirely exempt 
from that weariness which incessant exertion im- 
parts. The servant boy of Captain Read, whose 
horse had run away with him, and whom we had 
not seen for hours, now rushed in, and by way of 
apology for his absence, told how the animal had 
failed him three times ; while another proverb in 



136 RETURN TO LISBON. 

Arabic, from our hostess, settled the point, that it is 
safer to walk than ride, inasmuch as the pedes- 
trian has four the less legs to take care of. So, 
having established this great truth in probable acci- 
dents, we retired to rest. But Cintra was all night 
in my dream ! — 

It floated there, as some sweet fairy land 
Of fragrant flowers, for birds and bees to sip, — 

Where chrystal streams glide o'er the golden sand s 
And fruits of nectar greet the gushing lip ; — 

Where life's a careless round of rest and play, — 

A childhood mid the merriest things of May. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Lisbon— Street— Dogs— Don Miguel— Habits of the Females— Friars 
and Monks— Perils of Night- Walking— Impositions on Strangers 
— A blind Musician— Political Disasters. 

Approaching Lisbon from the opposite side of 
the Tagus, it has the appearance of a truly magni- 
ficent city. The lofty buildings, with their white 
walls, and airy turrets, stretch far up a finely 
ascending plane. But as you approach it more 
nearly, and wander through it, your admiration 
ceases, and you become excessively disgusted with 
the rags of the rabble, and the narrowness and 
filth of the streets. The inclined position of 
Lisbon would render its cleanliness perfectly feasi- 
ble ; but no attention is given to the matter, except 
what exists in some municipal regulations, which 
affect the canine portion of the community. Dogs 
are the only authorised scavengers, and for their ser- 
vices in this respect, are granted certain rights and 
immunities. They swarm through the streets, espe- 
cially at night, and so obstruct the narrow passages, 
that you are continually stumbling over them. 

The French, while here, bayoneted these sca- 
12* 



138 STREETS AND DOGS. 

vengers by the hundreds; and compelled those who 
move on two legs, to take their place. The effect 
of course, was a more clean and healthy city ; but 
the French are gone, and the dogs are reinstated in 
their ancient rights. I have seen no personal vio- 
lence offered to any of them, except by the king. 
His majesty is in the habit of riding through the 
city upon a very fleet horse, and carrying in his 
hand a prodigiously long wand, with which he 
exhibits his muscular power, and brachial dexterity, 
in knocking over these poor Trays. His aim is 
sure, and his blow certain death. I saw him in the 
course of a few minutes, knock several of them 
entirely out of existence, and that too — which made 
the case rather a hard one — while they were pick- 
ing the filth out of their monarch's path. But the 
dogs are now becoming extremely shy of their king, 
and are manifesting their sagacity by a timely 
escape from the reach of his wand. They detect at 
a distance the rapid sound of his charger's hoof, and 
instantly take to flight, after the true old maxim — 
let those escape who can, and the devil take the 
hindermost. 

It is not safe for one, who respects his olfacto- 
ries, or his apparel, to be in the streets of Lisbon 
after tea at night. The goddess of Cloacina begins 
to reign at that hour, and her offerings are cast 
down indiscriminately from every upper window. 
Her altars, which in every other city are under 



OFFENSIVE CUSTOM. 139 

ground, are here the open pavement ; and woe to 
the luckless wight who happens to be passing at the 
time of oblations ; he will think of any thing 
but the sweet scents of Araby, and the pure waters 
of Helicon. How the ungentle worship of this god- 
dess should be thus fashionably tolerated, is incon- 
ceivable; it is enough to drive all romance and 
knighterrantry out of a city ! 

I wonder not that poetry has ceased here, that 
the harp is unstrung, and the minstrel gone. How 
Love should linger under the embarrassments and 
perils of such a dodging existence, is a mystery. 
But this little fellow of the purple wing, and laugh- 
ing eye, is somehow the last to leave any commu- 
nity. He manages to remain, whatever may betide, 
else he would have long since taken his departure 
from Lisbon, and left its daughters to their deso- 
late hearts, their silent tears, and worse — their 
broken guitars ! 

Political disasters and jealousies here have nearly 
broken up those little intimacies, which used to pre- 
vail in families of the same rank, and upon which 
depend the social enjoyments of every community. 
Ladies are now seldom seen in any considerable num- 
bers, except at worship ; and here they meet at all 
hours of the day. You may pass from church to 
church, and find in the nave of each, large groups of 
well-dressed females. The most young and fashion- 
able assume a position in advance of the others ; 



140 HABITS OF THE FEMALES. 

coming in, they first kneel, cross themselves, move 
their lips for a few minutes, and then assume a sit- 
ting posture on the clean marble pavement, with 
their small feet drawn up under them, something 
after the Turkish fashion. They sit here by the 
half day ; and when there is no public service going 
on, which is usually the case, they amuse them- 
selves in whispering over to each other those little 
things of which ladies are prone to be fond. To 
the young gentlemen, who are probably attracted 
here more by the worshipers, than the worshiped, 
they never speak, except with their eyes ; but these 
organs, with them, have a language more true to 
the instincts of the heart, than any dialect of the 

These whispering and glancing assemblages, are 
more excusable here, than they would be in our 
country. Ladies with us, may meet when and 
where they please, and almost whom they please ; 
but here these social indigencies are not known ; 
and it is a very natural consequence that the ladies 
should avail themselves of the facilities, which the 
church and balcony afford, for evading these irk- 
some restrictions. A lady who does not dare to 
afford you a passing look, as you meet her in the 
street, will in the church, knock aside her mantilla 
with her fan, and divide her glance between you 
and the image of the blessed Virgin : or, if you are 
passing near her balcony, she will dart upon you 



FRIARS AND MONKS. 141 

all the sweet attractions of her unveiled face. Un- 
reasonable and indiscriminate restraints, promote 
neither the cause of religion, or virtue. They con- 
vert the sanctuary into an ogling room, and the 
balustered window into an amatory bower. 

The friars and monks of Lisbon, are apparently 
the best fed people in it; they have a majestic 
corpulency of person, which reminds one of the 
good cheer, which sir Jack, of sack memory, so 
much admired. You meet them at every turn, in 
their black flowing robes, sandals, silver-buckled 
shoes ; and hats of enormous brim. They move 
along with that gentlemanly, good-natured, slow 
pace, which heeds not the flight of time. They 
have none of that thin, thinking, anxious look, 
which converts the closet and pulpit into a befitting 
refuge for ghosts ; but they have that full, fat, jolly 
cast of countenance, which lets the world pass for 
better or worse, and which well becomes a man, 
who knows that he can shrive a Sodom of its sins 
in a minute, or exorcise the devil out of as many 
millions as there are sands on the sea-shore. There 
is something in this full, well-fed look of unconcern 
about this world, and the next, which makes a 
man's conscience set easy upon him, and he begins 
to feel the flesh thicken upon his own bones. 

The vow of celibacy in these fat, easy men, does 
not — if there be any truth in scandal — seriously 
interfere with their domestic pleasures. They have 



142 DWELLING HOUSES. 

no wives, it is true, but the Foundling Hospitals, 
which are extensive and liberally endowed, have 
within them, according to report, many a sacer- 
dotal likeness ; and these little fellows of ambigu- 
ous parentage, will, many of them, come forth one 
day to confess their betters, and run the career of 
their worthy fathers. The thing runs round in a 
rich voluptuous circle, far above the intrusions of 
an impertinent conscience, and the insulting terrors 
of a threatened hell. Such a life is worth having, 
and branded be the heretic that questions its sanc- 
tity. It is not, to be sure, in exact accordance with 
the habits of the Apostles ; but those men of lea- 
thern girdles, were foolish martyrs to their self- 
denying zeal. They lived in times, when the 
absolving functions of popes and priests were not 
known ; why then should their example be quoted 
in these good easy times, when there is no ignorance 
to be enlightened, and no depravity to be restrained. 
Let the world turn round on its axle, and let us all 
jog quietly along into heaven. But enough of this ! 
The sentinel who sleeps on his post, forfeits his life, 
and the minister of Christ, who slumbers over his 
responsibilities, perishes with a double doom ! 

The dwelling houses of Lisbon are many of 
them five and six stories in height ; — each loft has 
its family and restricted accommodations ; a broad 
dirty common stairway leads up through the whole ; 
and the rent decreases with the altitude. I wonder 



NIGHT-WALKING. 143 

at this, for so intolerably filthy are many of the 
streets, which are continually sending up their nox- 
ious exhalations, that I would get if possible into 
the highest loft, though it reached the moon. 

It is as much as a man's life is worth, to attempt 
to get through the city by night : there are no lights, 
except here and there a glimmer from some case- 
ment, which only serves the more to bewilder ; and 
you stumble along, through dirt, and gogs, and 
darkness, till you fall at last into some foul ditch, or 
bring up against some sturdy, black-visaged fellow, 
who accosts you with a demand for your purse* 
Many a poor stranger, after having thus battered 
his shins, lost his hat, and bedabbled himself with 
mud, has ended the night's disasters by being robbed, 
and then perhaps murdered. I experienced one 
night all but the last incident, and I should prefer 
being assassinated in any place to this, for I should 
not have even the miserable consolation of believing, 
that my murderer would be detected, and made an 
example of warning to the rest of his nocturnal 
profession. Law here runs upon accidents; it is 
like a wolf plunging through a bramble, he may 
crush a snake, but he is much more likely to pounce 
on a lamb. 

The traveler in Lisbon is imposed upon in every 
conceivable shape ; he is besieged by beggars, pil- 
fered by pickpockets, cheated by his hostess, and 
plundered by his cicerone. I inquired this morning 



144 IMPOSITIONS. 

of a cocheiro what he would charge to take me a 
short distancej to a place which I named. He stated 
his price in rees, a coin with which I was not 
familiar ; a third individual watching my embarrass- 
ment, touched his hat, and observed that the price 
named by the cocheiro, was live Spanish dollars, 
and offered very kindly to take the money, pay him 
and see he did his duty. But before he had finished 
his story, a fourth came up, and drawing me slightly 
aside, said that the price demanded by the cocheiro, 
was only four dollars, and that the man had stated 
it to be five, for the sake of pocketing one himself, 
and offered generously to take the sum, and pay it 
over, lest there should be some misunderstanding 
and I should after all be cheated ; I hesitated, not 
liking the price, or the man's solicitude, when a fifth 
person drawing near whispered that he had a word 
to say to me ; when turning away a step or two with 
him, he said that these two men were the greatest 
cheats in Lisbon, that they imposed on all strangers, 
that the price of the cocheiro was simply three 
dollars, that he would take the money and perhaps 
he might be able to beat him down, even a trifle 
below that sum. I was not, however, quite so green 
in the world, as to be caught yet, and observing a 
Portuguese merchant, with whom I had become 
acquainted, passing, I got him to explain to me the 
amount of the price named at first by the cocheiro ; 
and it proved to be only two dollars ! The reason 



HOTELS OF LISBON. 145 

the cocheiro did not interfere, and rescue me from 
the friendship of these interpreters, was that they 
spoke very low and in broken English, which he 
could not comprehend, — or there might have been 
an understanding, between him and these kind souls ; 
for after all I got cheated, and paid about twice as 
much as the usual price. A stranger here wants 
an eye in every hair of his head, and then if this 
scull-cap be a wig he will lose it ! 

The traveler will find but little choice between 
the hotels of Lisbon ; they are all miserable, perhaps 
Madam Julia's the least so. If his linguistical host- 
ess presses him too hard, on the subject of ancient 
languages, he must adopt a similar expedient to the 
one, which I took refuge in last evening ; for as this 
representative of all languages, especially the dead, 
came waddling to a chair near my side, commencing 
even before she had rolled into her seat, a dissertation 
on the relative force of Cicero and Demosthenes, I 
happened to look out at an open window, and dis- 
covering a blind man with a violin, led by a lad, 
who carried a guitar, dispatched a servant with 
instructions to invite them in. Madam Julia de- 
clared a man must be out of his wits, who could 
prefer such music as that to the eloquence of the 
classics, and that she was not accustomed to have 
beggars in her parlor. I told her the fiddle must 
come, or I should go, and ordered two good suppers 
prepared for my new guests. The last order par- 

13 



146 BLIND MUSICIAN. 

tially reconciled madam, to the introduction of the 
strangers, and the sudden breaking off of the literary- 
discussion. 

My new acquaintances entered : one was a man 
of sixty, cleanly clad, and perfectly blind; the 
other was his son a lad of twelve years, with a very 
bright, intelligent countenance. I inquired of the 
old gentleman how long he had been blind ; he 
replied: "From my early childhood, sir." "And 
do you not find," I asked, " a consolation for this 
visual deprivation in this violin." " It is the only 
thing," he replied, "that reconciles me to life." 
"And would you not," I thoughtlessly asked, "be 
willing to part for ever with this instrument, on con- 
dition you could recover your sight ?" He seemed 
to hesitate a moment and then said, " That, sir, is 
rather a difficult question." After supper, in which 
the boy betrayed a truly filial and amiable disposi- 
tion, in assisting his blind father to the coffee and 
different dishes, they played for an hour ; and I 
have rarely been more entertained. Nature seems 
to have made up, in music, to the bereaved man, 
what misfortune had deprived him of, in the loss of 
his sight. His voice flows into the full harmony of 
his violin, with expressive richness and force. I 
would exchange to-day the use of one eye, at least 
for the musical gift of voice, and the magical power 
over the violin, which this blind man possesses. In 
any country, capable of appreciating and awarding 



CONDITION OF PORTUGAL. 147 

merit, so far from mendicity, he would rise at once 
to affluence ; but here, the unworthy seem to pros- 
per, and the meritorious to starve. The perform* 
ance of the lad, was astonishing for one of his years ; 
but he had been trained, as his father informed me, 
almost from his infancy to the guitar. On parting 
with these new friends, I put into the hand of the 
boy what little money, the extravagant charges of 
Madam Julia had left, and only regretted it was 
not more. 

The resources of Portugal are now in a most 
wretched condition. She has squandered her 
wealth, in the prosecution of schemes, which have 
ended only in abortion, — in the continuance of 
wars, which have terminated in her disgrace, — and 
in the support of an overgrown ecclesiastical esta- 
blishment, that now weighs like a crushing incu- 
bus, upon the poor remnants of her strength. Her 
capitalists are deterred from investments, by the 
insecurity of property ; her merchants have lost their 
enterprise, in the onerous restrictions of commerce ; 
and her oppressed peasantry, discouraged and bro- 
ken-hearted, have retired to their hovels to die ! Nor 
in a political aspect is she less degraded and mise- 
rable. Her throne is the subject of a violent frater- 
nal conflict ; her towns and villages are converted 
into lawless camps ; and her more worthy citizens 
are sent into exile, to the scaffold, and the dungeon ! 
Freedom of opinion, nobleness of demeanor, na- 



148 CONDITION OP PORTUGAL. 

tional pride, and self-respect, have all perished from 
her soil, or survive only in some dark, indignant 
recess ! These are the fruits of a doting, driveling 
despotism, that has ever manifested its imbecility, by 
the pursuit of schemes visionary and impracticable ; 
that has long betrayed its ignorance, by confounding 
a calm difference of opinion with treason ; and that 
still evinces its unrelieved tyranny, by punishing 
with death an exercise of that intelligence, which 
alone raises man above the abject brute. 

But our anchor is weighed, and I must leave 
this land of peril and sorrow. Adieu sweet Cintra ! 
thou, art a green oasis in the desert of thy realm. 
Farewell thou noble Tagus ! would that those 
who dwell on thy fresh banks were more worthy of 
thy golden tribute : and Madam Julia ! farewell to 
thee ! — the tears are in my eyes ! — farewell ! 

Cherish thy parrot ; and declare to all, 
That this serene, exquisite bird was given 
Before the dismal discords of the Fall, 
To bring to earth the dialect of heaven ; 
The very bird, from whose celestial stammer, 
Our mother Eve first learnt the Hebrew Grammar. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Passage from Lisbon to Gibralter— Diversions of the Sailor—His 
tact at telling Stories— Love of the Song — Fondness for Dan- 
cing — Unhappy Propensities — Duty of the Government towards 
him. 

We are again at sea, with our canvas set to a 
fresh, fair breeze, that promises to take us to our 
destined port. The evening has come in bland and 
beautiful ; the sky, nature's great dome, is yet unlit 
by the softer stars, but the light of the departed sun 
still lingers on the cloud, fringing it with golden 
fire. Such an evening as this more than reconciles 
one to the strange, adventurous life of the sailor ; 
yet it brings with it, like the tones of recollected 
music, all the sacred endearments of home. The 
ocean-traveler thinks if only that one Being, who 
dwells so brightly in his memory, could be near him — 
could look at the same sunset, sky, and stars — it 
would be all he could ask — he should be happy ; 
and perhaps he would, foi their hearts would, im- 
perceptibly become harmonized to the same tone of 
pensive sentiment, till like the mingling note of two 
lutes in perfect unison, their spirits would become 
one, and the current of their thoughts would glide 

13* 



150 STORIES OP THE SAILOR. 

away as from the same fresh fount. In the soli- 
tude of their situation, they would cling to each 
other, as all that this poor world contains, nor 
dream that either could survive a dissolution of this 
concentrated life. An hour of such confiding 
attachment as this, is worth years of that heartless 
intimacy, which obtains in the circles of the gay. 

Such an evening as this, with its steady breeze, 
is a pastime to the roving sailor. He has no sails to 
reef, no yards to trim, and sits himself quietly down, 
while one of his companions, blessed with a more 
fertile imagination, spins a long yarn. These sto- 
ries partake vastly more of fiction than fact, and are 
often, I have no doubt, the mere creations of the 
individual. They do not very nicely preserve the 
unities, but these are forgotten in a succession of 
marvelous, ludicrous, and tragical incidents. One 
of them will frequently be extended through several 
nights, and apparently increase in interest with its 
length. I have just heard one resumed for the 
fourth night, and how much longer it will be con- 
tinued, no one can conjecture. The circle seated 
themselves in their wonted place on deck ; a silence 
ensued : — " And where did I knock off ?" inquired 
the teller. " Just where the gale struck the ship 
and she was thrown on her beam's end," answered 
one of the listeners. " No, it was where she split 
on the rock, just as she was making a snug harbor," 
replied another. " That was not the spot neither," 



STORIES OF THE SAILOR. 151 

interrupted a third, — "it was where that strong 
swimmer, with a shark at his heel, made his way 
through breakers to the shore, and then dropped on 
the sand, with his strength all spent : don't you 
remember the beautiful girl, who came down to the 
beach 3 and held his head on her knee, when her 
blessed tears dropped on his cheek?" "Oh! that 
was the spot," exclaimed the story-teller, " and a 
sweeter creature never lived ; she knew nothing 
about that man, only that he had been wrecked, — - 
for she was standing on a cliff, when she saw the 
ship strike the rock, and go down, — yet soon as he 
reached the beach, and was trying to get further 
from the wave, and kept fainting and falling, till he 
couldn't rise any more, she came at once to him, sat 
directly down, and raised his head on her knee, and 
then — bless her sweet heart ! — wrung all the salt 
water out of his hair, and watched his face like a 
sister, to see if he would breathe again. Oh ! fel- 
lows, — there is something in a woman you never 
meet with in a man. She never waits to be paid 
for her pity, — it comes at once bubbling right up 
out of her heart. This girl knew the man had 
nothing to give her for her kindness, for his land- 
tacks had all been wrecked with the ship ; she saw 
he was young, and handsome too, if he hadn't been 
so pale ; but it wasn't that, that made her come to 
him." — Here I was called away ; the story, however, 



152 SONG OF THE SAILOR. 

was continued, but of the end I know as little as the 
reader. 

The song is another evening amusement among 
our sailors, when the breeze is steady and the sea 
smooth. They gather forward, before the call of 
the first watch, in a large group, when some one 
more favored than the rest in melody of voice, is 
called upon for a song. With little ado, save ad- 
justing his tarpaulin, and dispensing with his quid, 
he strikes up, — it may be the Defeat of Burgoyne, 
the Battle of Plattsburg, the Star-spangled Banner, 
the Cherub that sits up Aloft, or Black-eyed Susan, 
— but whatever be his choice, or the selection of his 
comrades, he sings it with a genuine earnestness, 
and downright honesty of heart. The music, be the 
words what they may, has generally a touch of the 
melancholy, and might be classed, without any vio- 
lence, among those airs, to which the good Whit- 
field alluded, when he determined that the devil 
should not run away with all the fine tunes. There 
was one among our crew, whose powers in the 
musical line were first rate ; we often called upon 
him for a song. His favorite was Black-eyed Su- 
san ; and he sung it with a fidelity to the sentiment 
that reached the very heart. The national airs of 
the sailor ever breathe of battle, and burn with 
patriotism ; they are intensely kindled with senti- 
ments, that flash through all the depths of his soul. 



DANCING OF THE SAILOR. 153 

Should the watch-fires of freedom ever be extinguish- 
ed on our cliffs, there will still be embers in the breast 
of the sailor, at which, liberty exiled from the land, 
may light her torch. 

Another amusement with the sailor, in the still 
evening at sea, no less than among the diversions 
of the shore, is dancing. This elegant accomplish- 
ment, as it is generally termed, belongs, I think, of 
right to him : for, without the least instructions, 
without having ever been taught a single figure, or 
step, or even told that he must turn out his toes, he 
goes ahead, and keeps time with a precision and 
emphasis of motion, seldom met with in the saloon. 
There are with him no studied bows, no mincing 
airs, no simpering looks, no glances at one's own 
white glove, and light, elastic pump, no rivalries, 
and jealousies, significant nods, nor quarrels about 
position, nor even about partners ; for if Lucy is 
engaged, Mary is not, and that is enough for him. 
He unships his tarpaulin, dashes into the ranks 
and bounds to the music with an exulting life and 
heart. Nor is the presence of the other sex, however, 
desirable, indispensable to him in this frequent pas- 
time ; for, on the deck of his ship, and far away at 
sea, where women may have never been, if a lip or 
lute, or string make the music, he is ever ready to 
move to it with his quick step and vigorous limb ; 
and he may sometimes be seen, when the winds are 
frolicking and piping through his shrouds, keeping 



154 HABITS OF THE SAILOR. 

fantastic time to their wild notes. Alas, those 
notes ! they are too often the pleasing, deceptive 
precursors of a gale, that is on its way to wreck 
that ship, — to sink it there with all its happy hearts, 
and leave over the spot where it went down, only 
the dirge of the passing wave ! 

Our life is but a tale, a dance, a song, 

A little wave that frets and ripples by ; 
Our hopes the bubbles which it bears along, 

Born with a breath, and broken with a sigh. 
Then fix, my heart ! thy trust in faith sublime 
Above the storms and tempest- wrecks of time ! 

Would that the diversions and excitements of the 
sailor, never carried him more widely on the moral 
compass, from his true course than he is borne, when 
yielding to the vein of a song, or making the part of 
his story. But he is so entirely the creature of im- 
pulse and momentary feeling, that he frequently 
finds himself so far out of his reckoning, that it 
costs him many troublesome tacks, and the most 
painfully close sailing, to enable him to bring up the 
leeway. No one thing contributes more to this dis- 
astrous departure, than the stimulating bowl. This 
is his darling sin — his prevailing temper — his flat- 
tering, false friend — his associate in joy, his refuge 
in grief — and the prime source of all the errors and 
evils that befall him. Will it be credited hereafter? 
that the government ! — the kind, paternal govern- 
ment which he serves, presents this poisoned chalice 
to his lips ? Yet this is the fact ! — a fact that will 



HABITS OF THE SAILOR. 155 

fill those who may write the history of these times 
with incredulity and amazement ! 

The evils to the sailor, of which this vicious in- 
dulgence is the source, are of the most affecting cha- 
racter. There is not a wave or shore, where our 
canvas has been spread, that is not darkened with 
the graves of our mariners. There is not a circle 
from which these bold hearts have gone, that has 
not been filled with, mourning for those who are to 
return no more. Could the wave that has been the 
winding sheet of the sailor speak — could the lonely 
shore reveal the secrets of its frequent mounds, there 
would be voices on the ocean, and bones on its 
strand, to tell a tale of death, more wild and dark, 
than any that ever yet knelled its terrors through 
the most tragic dream ! It is not the tempest, cast- 
ing the proud ship a naked hulk on the deep, nor 
the rock, strown with the fragments of its perished 
strength, that has wrought this scene of desolation, 
and filled so many hearts with unavailing sorrow. 
It is that cup of insidious poison, mingled and mix- 
ed — and still placed to his lips by the government ! — 
Yes by the government ! 

Nor were those, who had a short time since the 
humanity to propose, in our national legislature, a 
discountenance of this criminal conduct, able to 
shield themselves even from an insulting levity. 
The senseless jest reached them, entrenched, as they 
were, behind this appalling mass of misery and 



156 MEMBERS OF CONGRESS. 

death! Numbers, with whose names I will not 
dishonor this page, cast upon the earnest, impas- 
sioned appeal, the mocking of their sneers ! Such 
men might consistently trifle with the despair of 
the dying, and sport among the bones of their an- 
cestral dead ! They are a burlesque upon the solem- 
nities of the legislative hall! They are as unfit to 
lay their hands upon the ark of power, as a buffoon 
to administer incense upon the altars of the sanc- 
tuary. 

But I forbear. Let the invective light only on the 
guilty. It is the imperative duty of those, who hold 
the restraints of national law in their hands, to 
legislate on this subject, — to withdraw the counte- 
nance and sanction which they have given, — to dash 
to the earth the fatal cup which they are holding to 
the lips of the sailor, — and to cut up, root and branch, 
this deep evil in the naval service. If by any 
strange perversity or recklessness of heart they fail 
to do this, they betray the trusts confided to them, — 
they betray the interests of the navy, the interests of 
the country, the great cause of humanity ; and the 
blood of thousands will be found in their skirts, in 
that day, when men shall give to God an account of 
their deeds. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Gibralter — A befitting emblem of British Power — Romance of its 
History— Fortifications — Troops — Motley Population — Summit of 
the Rock— St. Michel's Cave— The Five Hundred— MonbodoVs 
Originals — Pleasure Party — Music and a Mermaid. 

As we floated around the rock of Gibralter, to 
our quiet anchorage, this morning, I found my 
anticipations of its formidable strength, and lofty, 
uncompromising look, fully realized. It rises 
bold and majestic, some fourteen hundred feet 
above the wave, and seems to cast its stupendous 
scorn upon the menacing violence of the two 
oceans, that rave at* its base. These oceans may 
roll on, and cast against it, through ages, the shocks 
of their undecaying power, but it will still stand firm, 
undaunted, and unshaken. The unbarred convul- 
sions of the final day, will indeed heave it from its 
foundations, but with it will fall the pillars, which 
support the vast fabric of nature. 

This towering and unshaken Rock is a proud and 
befitting representative of the moral and political 
power of the sea-girt isle ; and so long as that 
power is wielded with the dignity, moderation, and 
benign effects, which now characterize it, I trust it 
14 



158 FORTIFICATIONS. 

will prove as indestructible as this mountain mass. 
It is filled with a central energy, which binds to 
itself the confidence of all nations, that revere vir- 
tue, and respect the sacred rights of man. Were 
this empire to sink from its present commanding ele- 
vation, there is no community that would not feel 
the shock, and no good man who would not 
weep over the ruin. God grant, that in my last 
vision of mortal realities, I may see the unimpaired 
power of this noble realm blended harmoniously 
with the spreading influence of my own country, 
penetrating every clime, and pervading all lands. 

The lofty look of defiance, which nature has 
stamped on this rock, has been rendered still more 
formidable and threatening by the work of man. 
As you turn your eye to it, you are met below by 
a sweeping series of batteries, bristling with their 
engines of destruction. As you raise your eye 
higher up, you discover the fearful embrasures of 
long connected ranges of ordnance, ready at a 
breath to convert the stupendous pile into a blaze of 
terrific thunder. A thousand hostile fleets, even 
before they had time to display their impotent 
strength, would sink here, like the bubbles that 
break around their chaffing keels. If this impreg- 
nable citadel ever passes from the possession of 
Great Britain, it will not be by force. The giant 
of Gaza was despoiled of his strength, by strata- 
gem, — and in this form, if ever, will England be 



HISTORY. 159 

deprived of her Gibralter. But Britannia is too wake- 
ful, too full of caution, to lay her head on the seduc- 
tive lap of any Delilah. 

The history of this mountain fortress, is in 
keeping with its native wildness and singularity. 
The ancients, ever fond of connecting the origin of 
the most striking objects in nature, with the virtues 
of some of their fabled heroes, ascribed the existence 
of this rock to the might of their Hercules. There 
was something in its solitary grandeur, its fearless, 
self-relying aspect, and the depth and darkness of 
its caverned womb, that roused their imagination ; 
and they cast over it the mysteries of a deathless 
romance. This dream of wonder and worship, 
came down with a dim and thrilling interest upon 
later times ; and whenever a prince wished to dis- 
tinguish himself, in some perilous, romantic enter- 
prise, he seems to have laid siege to this rock. 
Thus, for ages, the gallant and brave of all nations 
appear to have regarded its possession, as a sort of 
triumph, that could set the highest and brightest 
seal upon their adventurous valor. At length Bri- 
tannia, in one of her wandering excursions over the 
ocean, being struck with the wildness and strength of 
its bold features, determined to possess it, as a sort 
of gorgeous and solemn out-post to her spreading 
power. She challenged its proud occupants to mortal 
combat, and won it, and gave her banner to the 
breeze, upon its highest peak. The beleaguering 



160 DWELLINGS. 

strength of nations has since been exhausted to pull 
that banner down ; but it still waves on, pointing in 
triumph and pride to the sea-girt isle. 

Every part of Gibralter, even that which has 
been most affected by the subduing power of human 
ingenuity, has still upon it a cast of the romantic. 
The town itself is reared upon parapets cast against 
its less precipitous side, and scarcely furnishes 
room for one jostling street; while higher up, as if 
half suspended in air, hundreds of toppling habita- 
tions may be seen fastened to the face of the rock. 
Thus fifteen or twenty thousand dwell, looking 
down upon the roof of their nearest neighbor, in 
a series so steep, that even the shrub in its fear of 
falling, strikes its roots with an unwonted pertina- 
city. Where the side becomes too nearly perpen- 
dicular to admit the construction of a support for the 
artillery, the rock has been entered, and long tiers 
of galleries cut in its solid recesses. The heavy 
guns, as if they might be rendered giddy by their 
elevation, scarcely look from their dark ports, 
except when an enemy may heave in sight, and 
then they will speak to him, in a voice, which the 
timid never mistake, and even the fearless can never 
withstand. 

There is also something strikingly picturesque 
in the varied aspect of the population : almost every 
nation is here appropriately represented. Here is 
the Briton, in the substantial pomp and circum- 



POPULATION. 161 

stance of office ; — the mercenary soldier, who per- 
haps never knew his parentage, or knew it only to 
run away from it, going through his evolutions 
with a crankness and precision, which mocks the 
automatons of Maelzel ; — the stout Moor, with his 
broad benevolent face, and his turban still true to the 
prophet ; — the bearded Jew, peddling his false jewels, 
and expecting the day of his deliverance ; — the Greek, 
with his restless air, and the cunning of his ever flash- 
ing eye ; — the Italian, living upon a crust of bread, and 
drawing from every instrument you may name, the 
tones of its slumbering melody ; — the Frenchman, po- 
lite in his last shirt, and whistling over his misfortunes ; 
— the German, silently and snugly amassing a for- 
tune for some unborn nephew ; — the Irishman, drink- 
ing his last penny in a health to the Emerald Isle, 
and vowing by St. Patrick, that it is the sweetest conti- 
nent in the world ; — and the Spaniard, with his dark, 
piercing eye, his sinewy limbs and trusty blade, 
ready for any enterprise, that the gallows and grave 
have attempted to obstruct. 

These are only a few of the more prominent 
figures in the picture ; more retired are groups, 
where one might speculate for years. Indeed, if I 
wished to take to a distant planet a just specimen of 
this world, in the most condensed form, and had the 
Herculean power requisite, I would carry off Gibral- 
ter. I should find in my gregarious wallet, some 
of the best and worst specimens of human nature, 

14* 



162 PROFESSIONS. 

with most of the intermediate links. All religions, 
trades, professions, and pursuits are tolerated, and 
thrive here. There is no pope, it is true, but the 
mass is said and sung with an emphasis ; — there is 
no high vicar of the prophet, but the Koran is 
read, and the houried paradise anticipated ; — there 
is no sanhedrim, but the chant of the synagogue is 
heard, and the promised Messiah still expected ; — 
there is no lecturing Esculapius, but the doctors 
nevertheless learn how to cure, or kill ; — there are 
no tread-mills or entailed estates, but the lawyers 
still find fees ; — there is no water-fall, but the fabric 
still goes on, under human hands ; — there is no 
arable earth, but the delicious plant is still reared 
into maturity ; — there is no protection for commerce, 
but the din of a bustling mart is incessant on the 
ear ; — there is no court, but the trappings of nobility 
are constantly flashing on the eye ; — there is no 
Draco with his bloody code, but the bailiff gets his 
fee, and the hangman is fed ! 

The large and well selected library of the gar- 
rison, in its elegant, commodious building, with its 
reading-room supplied with periodicals from the 
different quarters of the world, was a retreat from 
which I reluctantly forced myself away. A stran- 
ger, who expects to spend any time here, should by 
all means get introduced to the library. Another 
object of interest here, at least as long as its novelty 
lasts, is the beautiful parade ground, retired a little 



MOUNTED GALLERIES. 163 

to the south of the bustling town. You may here 
listen to the music of a powerful, military band ; 
or witness in the exact and simultaneous motions of 
the troops, how entirely a creature of system and 
position an English soldier is ; or you may see the 
dark Genoese darting by, and only casting a furtive 
glance, to see how her man of the red coat shows 
on parade. Near by, you will find many snug cot- 
tages, picturesquely cast into the airy nooks of the 
rock, shaded by the spreading fig-tree, or the more 
majestic palm, or the ambitious vine dropping its 
festoons around the slight corridor; while the 
varied flowers of many climes cast up from the 
small parterre the perfume of their mingled sweets. 
Another excursion of interest, is to the excava- 
tions. We were taken through these by Mr. 
Henry, our late consul at this place, a gentleman of 
polite bearing and extensive information. The gal- 
leries were sufficiently high for Mrs. R. to ride 
through their whole extent, without once dismount- 
ing her donkey. They are cut at some depth from 
the face of the rock ; their gloom and darkness is 
relieved only by the light which struggles past the 
muzzle of the guns, as they look out menacing the 
world below with the heavy metal, which lies hugely 
piled around them. Looking from these lofty gal- 
leries, you feel perfectly secure from the utmost vio- 
lence of a besieging enemy — which to me would 
be not at all disagreeable — and at the same time, you 



164 TOP OF THE ROCK. 

feel that every thing beneath you is at your mercy. 
If it be a fleet, you see that you can send the plung- 
ing ball through the deck, while not a shot can 
mount to your position ; or if it be a breast-work, 
you can strike it as the eagle in his rushing swoop, 
strikes his prey on the exposed plain. These exca- 
vations are a perpetual monument of the enterprise 
and hardihood of the English. 

From these central regions we ascended a spiral 
stairway to the top of the Rock, and from thence 
on to the signal tower, upon its highest summit. 
Here a corps of observation is stationed, who com- 
municate the arrival of ships in the straits ; and who 
announce from a small battery, the rising and setting 
of the sun. From this elevation your prospect is emi- 
nently commanding ; you see Africa stretching away 
with a gloomy aspect, that well comports with her his- 
tory of strife and disaster. On the other hand, you dis- 
cover the nearer coast of Spain, sending the glad 
tribute of its waters to the sea, and the wild ranges 
of its more distant mountains, heaving into the blue 
sky the glittering pinnacles of their eternal ice. Far 
over the intervening land, rolls the broad Atlantic ; 
while less remote, lies the Mediterranean, in all the 
brightness and beauty of that hour, when the morn- 
ing stars first sang together over its unveiled face. 

From this position, we wandered to St. Mi- 
chel's cave, whose winding depths lead down 
among the foundations of the rock. You enter by 



THE FIVE HUNDRED. 165 

a small aperture, half concealed by shrubs, and 
which really promises but little in compensation for 
your pains. But when you have got fairly within, 
and see the outline of objects, dimly revealed in the 
light that strays through the narrow opening, — the 
stellactics, descending in columned beauty from the 
fretted vault to the well-formed pedestal, — the arch, 
sweeping from pillar to pillar, with architectural 
symmetry and precision, — the dark portals of other 
caverns leading down to regions unknown, — you 
are as much surprised at the inward as outward 
structure of this singular mass. 

It was here that the devoted five hundred con- 
cealed themselves, through a long anxious day, till 
the shadows of night again concealed their invading 
movements from the enemy. They had vowed 
never to return, till they had won back this Rock to 
the Spanish crown. They had taken the sacra- 
ment — been shrived by their priest, and were thus 
doubly armed — not having before them the fear of 
this world, or the next. They succeeded during 
the first night, in climbing to this cave, where they 
remained undiscovered through the succeeding day. 
Upon the following night, they drew up by the help 
of rope-ladders, other bold companions to their aid, 
and were now ready for the decisive blow. But a 
trifling misunderstanding occurring at this critical 
moment, they were discovered, — attacked by a pow- 
erful detachment from the garrison, — driven over 



166 HUMAN ORIGINALS. 

the precipice, or slain on the spot — battling it to the 
last breath. I could not but feel, as I stood on that 
spot, an indescribable sentiment of sympathy, for the 
disastrous fate of those gallant men. The question 
of their success, or failure, appears to have been sus- 
pended upon a hair. But valor in this world seems 
to be destined to an early grave, while skulking 
cowardice lives out its lengthened life of shame. 

Monkeys in considerable numbers, at certain 
seasons of the year, make their appearance among 
the heights above. They come, as report says, from 
the African shore, under the rushing straits, in a 
tunnel, — probably less magnificent than that beneath 
the Thames — and reaching some of these lowest 
caverns, mount through them to the upper regions 
of light. They manifest such a degree of sagacity 
and cunning, that I should advise any one, who 
thinks of adopting Monboddo's theory of man's ori- 
ginal formation, to come here and strengthen his 
incipient convictions. 

These gentlemen of the tail, are sometimes pur- 
sued, by some of their two-legged neighbors ; and 
on such occasions, when hard pushed, they are prone 
to turn a quick, short corner, upon the giddy verge 
of the rock, and let their eager pursuer, who is una- 
ble, in like manner, to arrest his momentum, plunge 
off the fatal steep. Though this is not exactly destroy- 
ing an adversary, by giving him battle, yet it is kill- 
ing him in a much handsomer way. I recommend 



PLEASURE PARTY. 167 

also, all molesters of society, to come here and learn 
how easy it is, even for a monkey to out-wit a dis- 
turber of the public peace. Say what we will, the 
monkey has many of the traits which belong to a 
modern-cut gentleman. He carries, it is true, no 
quizzing glass ; but then he keeps looking and wink- 
ing and staring, just as he would, were he using 
that elegant, ocular aid. His tail, to be sure, is 
rather an embarrassment ; but this is no fault of 
his ; and I always feel, when surveying his person, 
a pitying regret that nature should have thought it 
necessary to afflict him with this most singular, and 
wholly superfluous appendage ! 

On the day of our departure from Gibralter, we 
were favored with the company of an engaging 
party of ladies and gentlemen, who came on board, 
at the invitation of Capt. and Mrs. Read, with whom 
they dined. In the course of the day, we sailed 
across the bay to Algeziras, where we obtained a 
clean bill of health from its kind governor, for the 
purpose of evading the quarantine laws of Malaga. 
There is a sort of family understanding here, that a 
ship passing from one port to another of the same 
nation, shall be exempted from all lazaretto embar- 
rassments. It was an amiable act in the governor, 
and I wish it were in our power to return it. The 
company appeared in excellent spirits, and the occa- 
sion passed off with unusual animation. Mr. Page, 
our present consul, and his lady, to our regret were 



168 DEPARTURE. 

absent ; — their society would have imparted an 
additional interest. But we could scarcely grieve 
over the absence of the best of friends, while listen- 
ing to the music of a Spanish lady, who composed 
one of the company. Her deep and elastic voice, 
full of sweetness and energy, passed through the 
wide compass of its powers, with a thrilling force. 
In its lowest tones, it had a singular fulness and 
strength ; and yet appeared to lose none of its ex- 
pressive melody, even in that light and vanishing 
strain, in which the music seems to linger, when the 
lips have ceased to breathe. Her light and easy hand 
would now just touch the strings, that answered in 
soft unison ; and now sweep them, as if calling up 
their harmonies from some profound slumber. I 
could have listened till another sun had risen ; but 
the one now setting, compelled our friends to think 
of the shore ; — and so we parted — they to their cheer- 
ful homes — we to the winds and waves of the Medi- 
terranean. 

Whether it may be ascribed to that apprehen- 
sion of disaster, which we ever experience on parting 
with friends, or to the tragical cast of the music, to 
which we had been listening, I know not, but — 

That night I dreamed, while in my hammoc swinging, 

Our ship had suddenly become a wreck ; 
The booming wave was in my dull ear ringing, 

As I went downward from the parted deck ; 
While far above the hoarsely sounding surge, 
Was murmuring to the rocks my funeral dirge. 



A MERMAID. 169 

A mermaid gliding from her coral-cave, 

And bearing in her hand a scallop-shell, 
Hovered around me in my sea-green grave, 

And play'd the air, on earth I liked so well. 
It is an air which he who sings or hears, 
However gay, will find himself in tears. 

She breathed it through her sweetly sounding shell ; 

And as she reached that closing, tragic strain, 
Where wildly dies away Love's last farewell, 

So long did her reluctant lips retain 
The parting sound in their melodious breath, 
I quite forgot the agonies of death. 

And there I lay upon my watery bier, 

Enchanted by this minstrel of the deep : 
The strain had ceased, yet still she hovered near, 

And seem'dj as with a sister's gentle love, to keep 
A tender vigil o'er the troubled slumbers, 
Which she had soothed with her celestial numbers. 



15 



CHAPTER XV. 

Malaga— Coming to Anchor— Cathedral— Tomb of Moliana— Fiddles 
and Organs in Churches— Castle of the Moors— Hours of a Mala- 
guena— Traits of a singular Bandit— A Spanish Lady— Twilight 
L and the Promenade— A Funeral. 

We dropped anchor in the bay of Malaga, at a 
late hour last night, and fully experienced that illu- 
sion of distance, which objects discovered at sea, 
and especially by star-light, never failed to create. 
I would have ventured any thing on the conjecture, 
that we were not more than a good cable's length 
from the landing, when, as it afterwards proved, we 
were over a league. This is a happy provision in 
nature, for otherwise we might, under a quick wind, 
a rapid sea, and perhaps a nodding watch, be car- 
ried against the rock before we had time to haul 
our wind, where, as we may now apparently strike 
it with otir jib-boom, and still have room to wear 
ship. Those who are prone to regard the imper- 
fections of man in a light, that impugns the divine 
benevolence, may here find, even in our infirmities, 
the means of our safety. 

One of the first objects to which we directed our 
steps upon reaching the shore, was the cathedral — a 
magnificent, stately pile — towering in splendor and 



TOMB OP MOLIANA. [171 

pride, far above the humble fc habitations around. 
The style of its architecture is a mixture of the Ro- 
man and Gothic — a union which has here been 
effected upon a colossal scale, with a happy and 
impressive effect. The interior presents an oblong 
spheroid, with a double row of Corinthian pillars, 
rising in marble richness and stability, from- the 
centre of the nave to the dome, which sweeps down 
in well turned arches, upon the lofty entablatures. 
The high altar and pulpit, are of fine flesh-colored 
marble, and the choir of exquisite workmanship. 
It contains about fifty stalls, richly wrought in ma- 
hogany, and several statues of saints, by celebra- 
ted artists. 

The monument of the late bishop Don Jesse de 
Moliana is well conceived, and tastefully executed. 
The dying prelate is represented on his tomb, in an 
inclined posture, leaning faintly on his hand, and 
looking calmly up, with that serene confidence, 
which triumphs over the terrors of death. The 
meekness and fidelity with which he is reported to 
have discharged his sacred functions, and his muni- 
ficent donations to this church, might well secure 
for him a lasting memorial. Though this cathedral 
is seldom mentioned by travelers, yet it is well wor- 
thy of being classed among the marvels of modern 
architecture. The area embraced within its walls, 
is four hundred feet in length, by two hundred and 
sixty in breadth, with a hundred and forty to the 



172 ORGANS IN CHURCHES. 

height of its arches — giving it dimensions, approach- 
ing those of the temple, which has brought so many 
thousand pilgrims to Rome. / 

The two organs, with their deep, rich tones, 
gave an air of solemnity and inspiration to the place, 
more impressive than the spreading incense of the 
altar, the majesty of the pillared dome, or the hal- 
lowing twilight, which softly bathed each object. 
While listening to these noble instruments, in the 
sublime part they bore in the anthem, I could not 
but feel a mortifying regret, at the mistaken hostility 
with which so many in my own country, regard 
these moving aids to the devotions of the sanctuary. 
In some of our churches, even a sober bass-viol is 
not tolerated, and a wind instrument is looked upon 
as the very hornpipe of the devil. I do not suppose 
that our aspirations will be very much deepened 
or elevated by the trills of a reed, or the quavers of 
a string. But this is no reason why an instrument, 
which can indeed " discourse eloquent music," and 
especially the organ, with its solemnity and power, 
should be expelled from our worship. True, it has 
not an innate sense of its melodious vocation, nor a 
soul of conscious penitence or praise ; nor has the 
human voice ; yet both may easily aid and express, 
in some degree, the fervors of our reverent homage. 
David, whose inspired harmonies still live in the 
church, and will, while there is a grateful penitent 
upon earth, celebrated the "loving kindness and 



CASTLE OF THE MOORS. 173 

faithfulness" of his benevolent preserver, " upon an 
instrument of ten strings, upon the psaltry and 
upon the harp, with a solemn sound." When out 
sanctity shall exceed his, it may perhaps be an addi- 
tional indication of piety and wisdom to dispense 
with all these auxiliaries in our religious services. 

Our next object of curiosity was a castle, built 
by the Moors, on an elevation, from which it subter- 
raneously communicates with the city, and com- 
mands the harbor. It is still in a state of good pre- 
servation, and from several inscriptions found on 
the blocks, of which its foundations are composed, 
evidently occupies the site of a Roman temple, and 
has been reared to some extent from the materials 
of that classic edifice. This is one of those strong 
holds, in which the power of the Moors took its last 
stand ; and where it was finally compelled to sur- 
render to the superior force of Ferdinand. The 
castle is now useless to its friends, and harmless to 
its enemies, though a few appendages of modern 
fortifications might easily render it a source of safety 
to the one, and terror to the other. But Spain ap- 
pears to be satisfied with her past achievements ; she 
is now impotent at a thousand points, where the 
least energy and enterprise might render her invul- 
nerable. But nations like individuals, when they 
have begun to fall, neglect the easiest means of pre- 
serving their tottering dignity and influence. The 
proud throne of the Ferdinands now exists, only by 

15* 



174 HOURS OF A LADY. 

the forbearance of many a power, upon which i! 
once looked down in contemptuous scorn. "How 
are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war per- 
ished !" 

In our rambles about Malaga we found all her 
streets narrow, but many of them preserving a de- 
cent regard to cleanliness. Her buildings are usu- 
ally of two stories, with balconies, where pots of de- 
licious plants and flowers cast their fragrance, and 
where sometimes the black-eyed Malaguena may be 
seen lingering around them with a lightness and 
gaity, but half concealed by the lattice of the cool 
veranda. There she sits by the side of the rose, 
which is not more fresh and fair than is her cheek, 
and near her canary, whose musical voice is never 
hushed, save when her own is heard, and passes off 
her lightsome hours, in casting the rich figure upon 
the embroidered veil, or touching her guitar, to 
one of those strains, which convert the dull realities 
oflifeintoa sweet romance. She is not disturbed 
by your listening ear ; her music still breathes on, like 
that of the nightingale, which the hushed woodland 
catches, and returns, in mellow echo. How differ- 
ent this from that unrelaxed gravity, that never 
smiles when it is pleased, and never weeps when it 
is sad! Give me the human heart, with all its sus- 
ceptibilities, sympathies and emotions, unchained 
and unblighted, and then diffuse through its quick 
nature, the hallowing and harmonizing influences 



TRAITS OF AN OUTLAW. 175 

of religion, and earth has not an object of more 
thrilling interest and beauty, 

Malaga — though it embraces a population of 
sixty thousand, and in commercial importance, is 
ranked the third city in Spain, yet it presents not 
many objects of curious interest to the stranger. 
But, what it wants in objects which usually interest 
the traveler, it seems to atone for in the bold, ad- 
venturous character of the outlaws who, occasion- 
ally disturb the peace and safety of its borders. 
The most conspicuous of these free-booters is Jose 
Maria, whose history will hereafter, I doubt not, 
furnish the elements of some absorbing romance. 
He considered himself, as it appears, wronged out 
of that political position, to which his talents and 
services justly entitled him, and in his indignant 
mortification, determined to punish the neglect and 
ingratitude, by assuming and enforcing an attitude, 
that might set the prejudiced decisions and partial 
laws of the times at defiance. He collected a band 
of faithful, fearless spirits, and proclaimed himself 
general-iu-chief of Granada, and king of the roads. 
If a thorough maintenance of assumed authority 
can establish it in respect and approbation of man- 
kind, then no one will feel disposed to question the 
titles of Jose Maria. 

He is a chivalrous reformer, a gallant leveler of 
those invidious distinctions, which the inequalities 
of property never fail to create. A fundamental 



176 TRAITS OF AN OUTLAW. 

principle in his innovating code appears to be, that 
as wealth is generally an adventitious circumstance, 
a participation in its benefits should not be denied to 
those who have been less favored of fortune. Ac- 
cordingly in his disposal of all the contributions, 
which he levies upon the traveler and citizen, he 
manifests a scrupulous regard to the demands of the 
poor, reserving to himself only a sufficiency for the 
support of his hardy clan. His mode of operation 
has none of that creeping, skulking meanness and 
cruelty about it, which so frequently disfigure the 
character of the outlaw. He rides in broad day- 
light into the neighborhood of some town or vil- 
lage, summons individually the more wealthy por- 
tion of its inhabitants to appear before him, and then 
names a definitive sum, which they must deliver to 
him, in a specific number of hours. They do not 
dare to disregard the summons, or refuse the amount 
demanded. This levy, reaching in some instances 
a very large amount, he distributes, with a slight 
reserve for hinfself, among the poorer classes of that 
community. 

He has never been known to shed blood, nor is 
he often under the necessity of resorting to violent 
threats. The traveler discovers at once, that resist- 
ance would be vain, and yields with as good a grace 
as he can. Yet the gallant robber will by no means 
deprive him of his last farthing, but leave him 
enough, with due economy, to reach his destination, 



TRAITS OF AN OUTLAW. 177 

or some place where he may replenish his funds. 
Sometimes when the individual happens to be a 
wealthy citizen of Spain, traveling perhaps a short 
distance, without much encumbrance of specie 
about his person, Jose Maria furnishes him with 
pen, ink, and paper, and a suggestion — rather an 
embarrassing one to be sure — for him to draw on 
his banker for a few thousand, and then politely 
entertains his guest, till the draft has been presented 
and the funds procured ; and even then he is not 
discharged without an allowance sufficient for his 
comfortable return home. In this manner he de- 
tained not long since, in his little encampment, even 
the governor of Malaga. The only consequence 
was, that his excellency returned from his morning 
ride with a pile or two less of doubloons in his drawer; 
than what he possessed upon mounting his steed ; 
and many widows and orphans had another dona- 
tion to expect from their wild benefactor. 

Another striking trait in the character of Jose 
Maria, is his uniform courtesy to the ladies. So 
far from offering them the slightest indignity, it is 
an offence which he punishes in his ranks with 
death. He does, indeed, require them to aid him 
in the support of the numerous objects dependent on 
his bounty ; but he makes his demand with so 
much politeness, with such a gentlemanly bearing, 
that they could hardly have the disposition to 
refuse, even were it in their power. But when the 



178 TRAITS OF AN OUTLAW. 

intercepted lady proves to be destitute of funds, he 
generously supplies her with the means of pursuing 
her journey, and parts with her upon such terms, 
that she will smile in her sleep as she dreams of 
him through many a night afterwards. A lady of 
large fortune, wishing recently to travel from Mala- 
ga to Madrid, sent out to Jose and obtained a passport, 
for which she paid fifty dollars ; but it so happened, 
owing to some very natural mistake on the part of 
the courtly king of the roads, that she was stopped 
on her route. She had, however, only to present 
her passport, when a handsome apology was made for 
the interruption, and she was allowed to proceed on 
her way with many kind wishes. The gallant free- 
booter never violates his word. 

Several Englishmen, recently traveling through 
Spain, were intercepted by this gentlemanly robber, 
who exercised considerable liberty with their heavy 
purses, but allowed them to retain sufficient to take 
them to a town, where they could draw on their 
bankers. Upon parting with them, he good humor- 
edly remarked, that as English travelers were in 
the habit of writing and publishing journals, he 
trusted they would speak of him in those terms of 
respect to which he was justly entitled. They 
might call him a robber— an outlaw : to these 
appellations he had no objections ; but they must 
not write him down a bloody blackguard ; for his 
reputation was much dearer to him than his life. 



TRAITS OP AN OUTLAW. 179 

So John Bull departed, in a little vexation for the 
loss of the money, mingled with an admiring asto- 
nishment at the open and courtly manner, in which 
it had been exacted. 

Another redeeming characteristic in Jose Maria, 
is his ardent love of liberty. When a person has 
fallen under the ban, for the freedom of his political 
opinions, this friend of the oppressed frequently 
effects his entire release. The expedients, by which 
he accomplishes this are novel and various ; but 
they all bespeak a singular shrewdness of intellect, 
and energy of conduct. A man of considerable 
distinction was recently condemned to the gallows, 
as entertaining sentiments too republican for the 
despotical nature of the times. So Jose just took 
into custody, as hostages, three or four monks, and 
informed the proper authorities, that in case the capi- 
tal sentence should be executed on the prisoner, the 
heads of these monks should roll after him to the 
grave. The menace had the intended effect. The 
captive was released ; and the men of saintly garb 
were allowed to return to their books and beads. 
Sometimes he even enters the place of execution, 
and rescues the noble victim, while ascending the 
scaffold. His very name strikes a terror into tyran- 
ny, and disarms the miscreants that riot in its cru- 
elties. 

Many efforts have been made by the Spanish 
authorities to take Jose Maria, and bring him to an 



180 ALEMEDA AT TWILIGHT. 

ignominious death; but they have proved unsuc- 
cessful. The mountain fastness, the blades of his 
trusty followers, the voice of the thousands he has 
fed, and, above all, his own exhaustless genius, have 
been his defence. He has his regular brokers in 
Malaga to facilitate his operations ; and he has 
also a timid Medora here, whom he frequently visits 
in the stormy night, and with whom he talks over 
the perils of his present condition, and a hope of bet- 
ter days to come. It is presumed by many, that 
her gentle influence will induce him at length to 
abandon his adventurous life, and accept a situation 
under a government that is already willing to pur- 
chase his alliance, at almost any price. 

Before leaving this ancient town of Spain, I 
must pause a moment at the Alemeda, the most 
attractive spot in Malaga. This green promenade, 
shaded with orange and oleander trees, occupies a 
spacious place, in the most elegant portion of the 
city. It is ornamented with a superb fountain, 
ever showering its refreshing waters among groups 
of marble statues, which have all the frolic and gar- 
mentless glee of the bath ! This fountain was a 
present, from the republic of Genoa, to the emperor 
Charles V. ; and after having passed 1 through the 
vicissitudes of being captured by an Algerine cor- 
sair, and of fortunately being retaken, was brought 
to this port, and finally placed where it now stands. 
But the Alemeda, at the purpling twilight, has a 



SPANISH LADY. Ibl 

still lovelier sight than this. It is not beauty in the 
changeless representations of marble, but in the full 
pulse and play of real life. At this mellowing hour, 
the fair Malaguena may be seen, gliding away with 
the family group, from the restricted corridor, to this 
more ample and animating promenade. Her man- 
tilla falls in light flowing folds over the glossy clus- 
ters of her raven locks, and seems so attracted by 
the charms which it half conceals, that it scarcely 
needs even the delicate confinement of the jeweled 
hand, that now and then adjusts its condition. Her 
basquinia, with its deep tasseled festoons, falls from 
the cincture of the slight waist, in spreading adap- 
tation to the fuller developments of her form, down 
to an ankle, over which it scarcely consents to 
extend the obscuring veil of its drapery. Her small 
round foot, which seems at every moment in the 
act of leaping from its little slipper, leaves the earth, 
and lights upon it again, with most exquisite grace 
and precision. Her countenance, ever partaking 
more of thoughtfulness than mirth, has the carnation 
melting through the transparent cheek — the slum- 
ber of a smile around the lip ; and the tender light 
of a full, black, overpowering eye. 

As she floats along, she casts upon you, if an 
intimate, a look of the most glad and sparkling 
recognition, — if a stranger, a look that lingers on 
your heart long after the beautiful being herself may 
have passed away. It ■ is precisely such a look, as 

16 



182 SOCIAL GROUPS. 

one would wear, who is pleased that there is just 
such a being as yourself in the world, and is happy 
in passing you this once, though she may never 
meet you again. It may, perhaps, be owing to my 
unfamiliarity with the world ; but I did not suppose 
it possible for a person to find, in a land of strangers, 
that which could so allure him to the spot, and strike 
to his inmost sensibilities — as what one must experi- 
ence, who puts his foot within the sweet environs of 
Malaga. 

But there are other engaging objects at sunset 
in this Alemeda. Groups of sweetly clad children 
frolic hand in hand, up and down its floating area ; 
while the little miss often, under a less reserve than 
her senior sister, smiles up to you, with a counte- 
nance full of light and gladness. You feel half dis- 
posed to recognize this infantine pleasure, in the 
liberties of a kiss, but not venturing so far, you pass on, 
only to encounter again the same captivating scene. 
You meet also, at every turn, a cleanly clad indi- 
vidual, ready to help you to a glass of fresh water, a 
rich ice cream, or one ready with his little flambeau, to 
light your cigar. Under the shade of the orange and 
oleander, you pass social groups, on their circling 
chairs, holding their free tertulia, where every topic 
takes its light and transient turn. From every thing 
that you see, your impression is, that the little embar- 
rassments, imposed by adventitious superiority, are 
here laid aside — that artificial restraints are forgot- 



FUNERAL PROCESSION. 183 

ten — that heart meets heart, and that many, with- 
out being the less wise, are rendered the more 
happy by such pastimes. 

We had taken leave of these gay groups, and 
turned to depart for our boats, which were waiting 
at the beach, when another scene, and one that 
strangely contrasted with those around, arrested our 
steps. It would seem as if it had come only to re- 
mind us of the fleeting nature of the objects that we 
had been admiring, to tell us that all this bright- 
ness and beauty, which our feelings had almost 
exempted from tears and decay, must pass down 
under the cloud of the grave ! It came nearer, and 
now with a step mournful and slow entered the Ale- 
meda — this place but a moment since so full of life, 
voices, and mirth, was now hushed, while every ear 
was turned to the low anthem of the dead. The 
youth and drapery of those who numerously follow- 
ed the bier, told that it was to a sister's worth, that 
they were paying these last sad rites. It seemed as 
if I had known that young being, — as if I had often 
encountered her youthful face, heard her voice, and 
seen her die. 

But yesterday and thou wert bright, 

As rays that fringe the early cloud; 
Now lost to life, to love and light, 

Wrapt in the winding sheet and shroud; 
And darkly o'er thee, broods the pall, 

While faint and low thy dirge is sung; 
And warm and fast around thee fall, 

Tears of the beautiful and young. 



184 FUNERAL PROCESSION. 



No more, sweet one ! on thee, no more 

Will break the day-dawn fresh and fair \ 
No more the purple twilight pour, 

Its softness round thy raven hair s 
No more beneath thy magic hand, 

Will wake the lyre's responsive lay ; 
Or round its rings the wreath expand, 

To crown a sister's natal day. 

Yet as the sweet surviving vine, 

Around the bough that buds no more — 
Will still its tender leaves entwine, 

And bloom as freshly as before ; 
So fond affection still will shed, 

The light on thee, it used to wear, 
And plant its roses round thy bed, 

To breathe in fragrant beauty there 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Passage from Malaga to Mahon— Tedious Calms— Relieving Inci- 
dents — Visit of a Bird — Capiure of an ominous Shark— Intru- 
sions of a Ghost— Unfair taking off' of a Black Cat— Petted Hedge- 
hog — Morgan's Spectre at INiagara. 

We have been fifteen days on our passage from 
Malaga to Mahon, — a distance frequently run in 
less than three. Most of the time, we have been en- 
countering a light head wind, or have been lying in 
a motionless calm. The sun has been intensely op- 
pressive, and we have had nothing to temper its 
burning ray, except a sight of the snow-clad moun- 
tains of Granada. I have sat by the hour together, 
looking at these icy pinnacles ; and as my fancy 
ranged among their shapeless halls of frost, I have 
felt, or imagined that I felt, the palpitating pulse be- 
come more calm and cool. Philosophers may say 
what they please, but a man's imagination has nearly 
as much influence over the temperature of his body, 
as it has over the habitudes of the mind. Who ever 
in his dream of the Avalanche cast another blanket 
from the covering of his couch? 

A calm at sea, on board a man-of-war, is not 
utterly unrelieved by incidents. It is indeed devoid 
of the peculiar excitement, which a storm brings 

16* 



186 VISIT OF A BIRD. 

with it. No spar is broken ; no shroud is rent ; no 
sail casts its tattered form upon the wind ; but some 
novelty of a lighter and less perilous character, is 
constantly occurring. Some wandering bird will 
rest its weary wing on the mast ; or some hungry 
shark, that has been hanging around the ship for 
days, will at last come within the deadly reach of the 
harpoon ; or some evil genius, that has haunted the 
ship, in the shape of a ghost, or the less imposing 
form of a black cat, will be detected in the mysteri- 
ous windings of its iniquitous errand. We have 
experienced these incidents, trifles in themselves, but 
which, with many others of a similar nature, tend 
incredibly to relieve the monotony of a calm at 
sea. 

The bird lighted on one of our spars, just at sun- 
set, and wearied with its long wanderings sunk in- 
stantly to sleep. We sent up a sailor, had him 
brought down into the cabin, where he was hospi- 
tably entertained through the night, and in the 
morning, after attaching a small silk thread to him, 
was permitted to depart, with many warm wishes for 
his safety. But the next day at sunset, he lighted 
again on one of our top gallant yards ; we received 
him with a cordial welcome ; and parting with him 
the succeeding morning, we attached to him a slight 
label, upon which was delicately printed, the name 
of our ship, with her latitude and longitude. Thus 
entrusted and commissioned, he winged his way off ? 



CAPTURE OF A SHARK. 187 

with the directness and speed of an aerial envoy ; 
and when we next heard of him, he had lighted at 
an immense distance, on one of our armed ships ; 
conveying on the label information equally strange 
and unexpected. I would travel leagues to see that 
bird again ; — but it has gone, like most of the beau- 
tiful things of this earth, which only seem to cross 
our path, and then vanish away forever ! 

The shark shared none of these feelings of hos- 
pitality and friendship. His very company is re- 
garded, as an extremely ill omen ; especially when 
there is a person sick on board. Sailors believe 
that this fearful fish has, what they term, the instinct 
of death ; and that his appearance is good evidence, 
that the body of some one is about to be committed 
to the deep. They also look upon him, as in some 
measure instrumental, in bringing about the melan- 
choly event ; and are therefore as anxious to secure 
his destruction, as a threatened city, to arrest the 
invading progress of the cholera, or plague. A fa- 
vorite of the crew was now apparently lying at the 
point of death ; and this shark had been hanging 
around our ship for several days. The harpoon had 
many times been poised to strike him ; but the wily 
fellow had ever managed to escape the plunging 
steel. At length an old seaman, who had been ac- 
customed to strike the whale, on the coast of Green- 
land, and who still betrayed the characteristics of 
his rude profession, in the peculiar fierce fixedness 



188 VISIT OF A GHOST. 

of his eye, and the muscular energy of his arms 
taking the harpoon, stationed himself on the ship's 
bows and declared he would never quit his post, till 
he had " backed the topsails of that lurking devil 
in the water." He had not been long on his watch, 
before the wished for opportunity arrived ; and 
never went an arrow to its mark with more direct- 
ness and celerity, than the harpoon to its victim. It 
struck him directly between the fore fins, and with 
such desperate force, that extrication and escape 
were impossible. A shout of satisfaction and tri- 
umph announced the victory ! The sick man soon 
became convalescent ; and it would be difficult to 
persuade many of the crew, that his recovery is not 
attributable to the destruction of this ominous 
shark ! 

The ghost appeared in a still more mysterious 
character. One of the young gentlemen, who slept 
in the cock-pit, was observed rapidly to waste away 
in his strength ; while his countenance suddenly as- 
sumed an aspect of melancholy wildness. He was 
naturally of a taciturn temperament, little disposed 
to obtrude his private fears and apprehensions, upon 
the attention of others. Perhaps a silence on the 
present occasion, was the more strongly suggested 
by the philosophical habits, which he had early and 
devotedly cultivated. He was often questioned as 
to the cause of the wasting illness, which had now 
become alarmingly apparent, in the sunken, palid 



VISIT OF A GHOST. 189 

expression of his features, and the fitful nervousness 
of his frame. But no reply could be obtained, ex- 
cept what might be conveyed in a mournful look 
or an involuntary sigh. At last however he ac- 
knowledged that something appeared nightly before 
him, the most unearthly in its shape ; and which, in 
spite of his utter disbelief in supernatural appear- 
ances, struck a chilling terror to his heart ; and that 
on such occasions the hammock, in which he repo- 
sed, was violently agitated, and swung against the 
bulk-head, with a force, which no motion of the sea 
could create. 

The rush of the hammock against the bulk- 
head had for several nights awakened the alarm of 
his companions in the cock-pit. This fact, together 
with the known character of the individual for 
veracity and sound sense, induced us to set a watch 
to detect, if possible, the mysterious agent of these 
alarms. This watch, consisting of three faithful 
and intelligent individuals, in the first place searched 
the apartment in which the invalid slept, carefully 
closing and securing every door which led into it ; 
and then waited, with dead lanterns in their hands, 
for the nocturnal visitant. As the clock struck the 
hour of twelve, a low, vacant moan was heard, and 
the patient who had, till now, remained composed 
on his pillow, starting up, exclaimed, — u There it 
is!" "there it comes P — "merciful heaven, protect 
me !" His hammock, at the same instant, rushed 



190 VISIT OF A GHOST. 

against the bulk-head with a violence which no mor- 
tal arm could impart. Large drops of cold perspira- 
tion stood on the forehead of the patient ; his eyes 
were starting from their sockets, and every nerve in 
his frame was shaking with a strange, unnatural 
fear. Search was immediately made, but no ves- 
tige of any living thing could be discovered, nor 
any clue to the convulsive movements of the ham- 
mock, or hollow moan of the voice, or ghastly form 
of the apparition. The watch was exchanged for 
many nights in succession, and the same mysterious 
phenomena witnessed by each, till even the most 
sceptical regarded incredulity no longer an evidence 
of superior sagacity, or philosophical wisdom. 

Nor were these strange appearances confined to 
the cock-pit ; but the men stationed in the tops, 
observed a singular form, in a dress of spotless white, 
moving among the rigging — now pausing upon one 
of the yards, now ascending to mast-head, and then 
again balancing itself upon some of the lighter 
tracery of the ship. The unsubstantial movements 
of this spectre among the shrouds, and loftier appen- 
dages of the ship, awakened in the susceptible mind 
of the sailor, the most alarming apprehensions. 
You would see him, as he was ordered to take his 
watch aloft, squaring off towards the ratlines, with 
the looks and attitudes of one, doubtful of results, 
but at least resolved to die manfully. "Let him 
come," Jack would murmur, " like something that 



THE BLACK CAT. 191 

has common honesty about him, and smite my timbers, 
if I don't knock daylight out of him; but this jump- 
ing about on the ropes, half the time in the air, and 
half the time on nothing, is foul play, and bodes no 
good." The imaginations of the crew soon became 
so excited, that nothing was thought or dreamt of 
among them, but ghosts, spectres, hobgoblins and 
blood ! These alarms not only gave rise to many 
frightful stories, but they called up, from the smo- 
thered graves of memory, tales terrific enough to 
startle the dead in their shrouds ! 

The incantation, from which these ghostly ter- 
rors emanated, has now been sufficiently traced, to 
remove all apprehensions of a supernatural agency. 
It was the jugglery of a young man, the apparent 
artlessness of whose disposition had subjected him to 
many a ludicrous hoax, from the junior officers and 
some of the crew. But he has enjoyed a most 
ample retaliation : 

The luckless subject of the merry trick, 
Became himself the master of the spell, 
And rolled the laughter back. 

The fate of the black cat was one, which the 
admirers of the tabby tribe will sternly disapprove. 
This restless domestic is looked upon by the sailor, 
especially when afflicted with a black visage, with 
no kindly or tolerant feelings. There is no bad 
luck about the ship, which is not ascribed to some 
evil influence, which she is supposed to exercise. 



192 THE BLACK CAT. 

Hence, in a storm, or dead calm, poor tab has a tre- 
mendous responsibility. Our unfortunate puss had 
been taken on board at Malaga, and since her em- 
barkation we had not been visited by one favorable 
breeze. This calamity was attributed to her uni- 
versally among the crew. There needed no lan- 
guage to tell what their sentiments were, for as puss 
came upon deck, so far from being petted, she 
encountered every where looks of the most threat- 
ening aversion. " Never," said an old tar to me, 
" did any good come to a ship that had a black cat in 
its concern. I have sailed," he continued, " on every 
sea, and ia every kind of craft, and I never yet 
knew a ship make a good voyage, that went to sea 
on Friday, or had on board one of these black imps. 
These are facts, sir ; land lubbers may laugh at 
them, but they are facts, and true as my name is 
John Wilkins." It was of no use to question the 
convictions of the old seaman's experience ; he was 
as confident and deeply earnest as a man testifying 
to the indisputable evidence of his senses. It was 
for this reason, that he, with some others, formed 
that shocking purpose so fatal to poor tab. For on that 
very night, in the middle watch, a quick plunge was 
heard in the calm sea, and the next morning puss 
was missing ! They had attached to her a heavy 
shot, and she sunk at once to the centre of the great 
floating realm, where she remains unapproached by 
the animosity of man, or the footsteps of the reckless 



PETTED HEDGE-HOG. 193 

rat ! Sterne would have written her epitaph in 
tears ; but I am not penning a sentimental journal, 
nor ami now in the lachrymal vein ; yet I would 
not have purchased by such a deed even the fine 
breeze, which visited us the next day, and which 
was regarded by the taby-cides as a sanction of their 
sanguinary conduct. We should never forget, that 
many a man has atoned, by his death, for a life of 
crime, which commenced in the destruction of a 
harmless insect. We should also bear in mind, the 
irremediable deprivation of life and happiness, which 
even in these trifling instances, we inflict ; for 

" The poor beetle, that we tread upon, 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang, as great 
As when a giant dies." 

Though the antipathy of the sailor to the shark 
and black cat, is so unqualified, yet his friendship 
and affection are extended to objects, nearly as 
numberless and ill-favored, as those to which the 
superstitious Egyptian paid the homage of his pro- 
miscuous worship. The favorite pet on board, at the 
present time, is a hedge-hog ; who moves about with 
an air of freedom and independence, which is truly 
enviable. Notwithstanding his bristling quills, and 
inimical attitudes, he is cherished by the crew, with 
as much solicitude, as if he were a cherub, destined 
one day to herald their spirits to a brighter and bet- 
ter world. They have already initiated him into 
some of our earthly sciences ; and though he may 

17 



194 BELIEF IN GHOSTS. 

not be able now to solve a deep mathematical pro- 
blem, or sing an exquisite song, yet he appears to be 
daily taking observations of the sun, and setting his 
organs for a melodious burst. He will not probably 
at first do justice to some of the more touching 
strains of a Rossini, yet he will doubtless far surpass 
many of our ladies, who affect a contempt for all 
music, except these difficult compositions, 

I return to ghosts : not that I would intimate the 
presence of any on board our ship at this time, or 
maintain, by an introduction of stern evidence, the 
credibility of their existence. I consider this ques- 
tion as settled conclusively, among all enlightened 
unprejudiced minds. A few, indeed, may still with- 
hold their assent, but their scepticism evinces only 
their want of philosophy, their weakness, and 
vanity. They refuse their belief, as they inform 
us, because no one of these mysterious beings has 
ever appeared in the day time. Now, what a fool a 
ghost must be, to make his appearance in broad day- 
light, subjecting himself not only to the impudent 
curiosity of mankind, but to the riddling rays of the 
sun, when even the moon-beams cast through him 
their sickly light ! 

But it is riot a fact, as stated, that no one of 
these spectres has appeared in the day time. When 
Morgan was put to death, on the strand of Niagara, 
for his treachery, and his body sunk in that stream, 
there appeared hovering around the place, an uncor- 



195 

poreal being, so like him in every look, that no one 
questioned the identity, or doubted the tragic deed. 
The discovery filled every body with consternation, 
and the whole land shook, like the bones of a 
skeleton under a galvanic battery. Thousands 
not only abjured masonry, but renounced their 
political faith. I made myself a palpitating pilgrim- 
age to Niagara. Aye — and I shall never forget that 
vision ! 

There walks o'er steep Niagara's wave, 
A ghost, whose form hath found a grave, 

Deep in those whelming tides ; 
Its feathered footsteps scarcely seem 
To bend the surface of the stream, 

O'er which this phantom glides. 

Around it there is cast a shroud, 
That seems more like a folding cloud, 

Than aught that mortals wear ; 
Its downcast eye, its faded cheek, 
Its pale and trembling lips bespeak 

A spirit of despair. 

It moans a hoarse and hollow wail, 
That mingles with the gusty gale, 

And with the rumbling flood ; 
It points toward the crimsoned shore, 
And shrieks, as if it felt once more 

The knife that drank its blood. 

Its wail is echoed wild and wide, 

From rock, and steep, and bounding tide, 

Around that haunted coast ; 
And fearful mothers, trembling, tell 
Their little ones how Morgan fell, 

And of this wandering ghost. 

Along that fatal shore is heard 
No more the song of merry bird, 

Or sound of hunter's horn ; 
The faithful watch-dog seems afraid 
Of every sound that stirs the shade, 

And bays till peep of morn. 



196 morgan's spectre. 



No more can sun, nor lunar beam, 
Erect a rainbow o'er that stream, 

From which the fish have fled; 
But there a little cloud appears, 
And sheds its unregarded tears, 

Like one that weeps the dead. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Mahon— Harbor— Port St. Philip— Admiral Byng— Lazaretto— Navy 
Yard— Habits of the Mahonees— Effects of a certain Vice on 
Man — Grand Organ — Sailors on Shore — Jack and the Opera — 
Commander of the Squadron — Entertainments. 

We are now riding at anchor in the harbor of 
Mahon. This harbor cuts its narrow way between 
bold and broken shores, for several miles, into the 
island ; affording, through its whole length, a most 
secure anchorage. The waters in this deep chan- 
nel lie as still as the fabled river of Death, but they 
are much less gloomy than the tideless flow of that 
sullen flood. They are relieved by a picturesque 
shore — by the frequent ship reposing proudly on her 
element, and the traversing speed of innumerable 
boats, leaving behind their hastening keels a long 
train of phosphoric light. Nothing can surpass the 
sentiment of quietude and security, which one feels, 
riding here at anchor, while the chafing ocean is 
fretting against the rocky barrier without. It is 
like a snug seat by the side of a cheerful fire, in a 
cold winter's night, while the storm and sleet are 
driving against your secure casement. 

On entering this harbor you pass, upon the left, 
17* 



198 FORT ST. PHILIP. 

the ruins of Fort St. Philip ; a fortification, that, in 
the day of its pride and strength, might have looked 
with scornful defiance upon the menaces of any- 
invading foe. The enduring parapet, the winding 
galleries cut in the solid rock, with the heavy bas- 
tion above, may still be traced, though they are but 
the dim and broken outline of ruined strength. 
This work of demolition is not the effect of time, 
but the condition of a treaty founded in weakness 
and folly. The once impregnable character of this 
fort owed its existence to British skill and hardi- 
hood ; and in the possession of that sagacious 
power, it would have preserved this character, but 
every thing was lost by a lamentable want of 
judgment or courage in Admiral Byng. 

The French, in their war of conquest, had fixed 
a determined eye on this spot ; they had hovered 
around it with their fleet, and cut off all foreign 
supply of provisions. The islanders, with a most 
unaccountable insanity, withheld the few supplies 
which it was in their power to afford, and conse- 
quently the garrison was reduced to a state of star- 
vation ; still the besieged held out with incredible 
self-denial and perseverance. At last the fleet of 
Admiral Byng hove in sight, bringing with it the 
relief, for which so many were famishing and 
fainting in death. But how appalling must have 
been their feelings, their despair, when they saw 
this fleet, after maneuvering in sight of an enemy. 



ENGLISH ADMIRAL. 199 

to which they were superior in force, bear off, and 
leave them to their melancholy fate ? It is no won- 
der, that in their mortified pride and indignation at 
this desertion, and in the extremities of their famish- 
ing condition, they surrendered. 

They were compelled to yield to the enemy, or 
the grave. In the excitements of a desperate con- 
flict, men may prefer the latter, but without this ab- 
sorbing passion, there are but few who may not be 
slowly tortured by famine into a surrender of tem- 
porary power. For this act of seeming treachery, 
and its disastrous consequences, the Admiral atoned 
by an ignominious death. I can never think of his 
last end, however, without some sentiments of com- 
passion. Perhaps his conduct flowed less from cow- 
ardice than irresolution, and that strange bewilder- 
ment, into which the minds of some men are cast, 
by the impetuous approach of a trying and perilous 
moment. If penalties can atone for indiscretion or 
crime, the memory of this unfortunate man should 
be allowed to rest without reproach. 

Upon the opposite bank, are the remains of fort 
Marlborough ; but there is now no terror or majesty 
about it, except what lingers in its name. How 
are the most formidable works of man cast aside, 
like weeds which the wave sweeps from the rock ! 
If man, in the frenzy of his passions, does not de- 
stroy his own works, time soon comes with his level- 
ing wand and leaves only enough to puzzle the anti- 
quary. 



200 LAZARETTO — NAVY- YARD. 

Not far from the relics of this fort, stands the 
Lazaretto ; a noble monument of wisdom and hu- 
manity. In the extent and convenience of its 
apartments it is surpassed in Europe only by that of 
Marseilles. It is about fifteen hundred yards in 
circumference, and so arranged in its interior con- 
struction, that the most malignant or contagious 
diseases cannot spread from one ward to another. 
Its accommodations are sufficiently ample to meet 
any emergency, that may arise among the squad- 
rons which frequent this sea. How much wiser 
is it in a nation to expend its treasures in the con- 
struction of establishments of this kind, than iti the 
erection of sumptuous monasteries for the accom- 
modation of indolence and infamy ? 

Higher up the harbor, and near the right bank, 
emerges from the wave the quarantine island.— 
Around this may be seen, moored in security, the 
ships and craft of various nations, undergoing their 
purifying penalties. Directly opposite stands the 
village of Georgetown ; whose kindly inhabitants, 
it is said, extend their hospitality even beyond that 
line where virtue should pause, and beauty veil the 
winning aspect of her charms. Still ascending, we 
pass, near the right shore, Hospital island, with its 
infirmary ; where the diseased may be fitted to join 
the living, or the innumerable dead. 

Higher up still, on the same shore, and near the 
head of deep water, we find the navy-yard, with 
its small octagonal islet, ware-houses, and the count- 



TOWN OF MAHON. 201 

less facilities, which the mutable habits of a ship's 
exterior render so desirable. Here you may see the 
majestic ship reduced in a few hours, as by the de- 
molishing stroke of a wizard's wand, to a mere hulk ; 
and then, as if by the same magical influence, sud- 
denly assuming again all its wonted stateliness and 
beauty. The dexterity and force of nautical science 
is no where more strikingly displayed, than in the 
extent and rapidity of these metamorphic exhibitions. 
I would as soon attempt to construct a world, as to 
return a tenth portion of the disengaged upper works 
of a ship to their puzzling places. 

Opposite the navy-yard stands the town of Ma- 
hon, with its narrow quay, scarcely affording a 
foundation for the range of store houses, which wall 
the low shore : while far above in giddy elevation 
the more advanced dwellings of the place appear to 
nod from the toppling crags. Ascending to their 
airy position by paths cut in the rock, or secured 
among the spiral clefts, you find yourself in a quiet 
town, with clean streets, unambitious but neat dwell- 
ings, and a population characterized for their indus- 
try, honesty, frugality and amiable deportment. I 
have seldom been in a community where there is 
so much to pity, and so much to admire. 

Their poverty is attended by a simplicity, and 
self-relying struggle at alleviation, which move your 
heart. It is not poverty in a cottage, surrounded 
and alleviated by rural delights. There are here 



202 HABITS OF THE MAHONEES. 

no rushing streams, no waving forests, no flocks 
that skip the hills, or luxuriate in the vales ; no lay 
of nightingales to charm in the purple evening, or 
song of early birds to usher up the rosy morn. It is 
poverty unrelieved by any of these romantic inci- 
dents. It is poverty in a city ; in a confined town, 
and among a people whose commerce has been 
crushed ; whose resources have been cut off by a 
despotism that disgraces the age in which it is per- 
mitted to exist. Mahon. with its due privileges of 
trade, might be a place of great enterprise and 
wealth • but under its present onerous and prohiba- 
tory restrictions, it is doomed to languish on in a 
life of hopeless poverty. 

Though the encouragements to industy here are* 
miserably slender — such as in our country would 
be regarded as a mere mockery — yet I have seldom 
been in a community of more active habits. I have 
seen the mother rising with the earliest dawn, assi- 
duously plying her task, till a late hour of rest, and 
gaining but a few farthings, scarcely sufficient to pur- 
chase a loaf of coarse bread for her helpless offspring. 
There was about her, in her toil and deprivations, 
a cheerfulness and alacrity, which affected me far 
more than all the dismal complaints and solicita- 
tions of indolent mendicity. It may be a weakness, but 
I could cheerfully divide my last penny with such an 
individual. I never before so deeply regretted the 
narrowness of my means. I could hardly wish for 



HABITS OF THE MAHONEES. 203 

a greater earthly felicity, than being placed in a 
population of this description, with the power of re- 
lieving their wants, and making them happy. 

If, in the more dependent sex, aberrations from 
rectitude here are too frequently to be met with, 
it is ascribable, in my apprehension, less to the 
want of virtue than the yearning instigations of 
want. Poverty in this frail world is a prolific 
source, not only of wretchedness, but of moral tur- 
pitude ; and though it cannot sanction guilt, yet per- 
haps it ought to soften down the severity of our de- 
nunciations. We know not what we are made of, 
till tried in the furnace of adversity ; we should all 
probably come forth from such an ordeal, with a 
vast diminution of pride and self-complacency. 
When we leave our plentiful boards for the crums 
of a precarious subsistence, we may then speak of 
temptations and the force of virtue. 

Competence is one of the strongest securities 
against crime. Treason to the wholesome institu- 
tions of society, and the moral sense of mankind, is 
seldom a wanton act. A wise legislator aims to 
make men happy, and thus to make them better. 
Would to God, that those intrusted with the dis- 
pensation of law, might realize the extent of joy or 
sorrow, good or evil, that must flow from an exer- 
cise of their prerogatives. Acting under a full, ade- 
quate sense of their responsibilities in this respect, 
they would lay the foundations of a fame, which 



204 EFFECTS OF A VICE. 

time could not impair, or marble monuments prolong. 
Their memorial would be the transmitted happiness 
of millions. 

Though the consequences of a ruined virtue in 
the other sex, may be more immediately disastrous, 
than in our own ; yet in the latter case, they are of 
a most destructive character. They benumb and 
destroy all the finer sensibilities of the soul. They 
convert the heart into a grave, in which its delicate 
emotions lie blighted and dead. The soft being 
that could once move and melt it by the moral 
charm, which rested on her beauty, cannot now 
quicken its perished sympathy. 

Purity is not only indispensable to the more refi- 
ned susceptibilities of our nature, but also to that 
quietude of conscience, which is the sunshine of the 
soul. I envy not that man his dreams, who seeks his 
pillowed repose, while he has left another to blush 
and to weep. He may indeed be callous to his crime 
— and for a time slumber on in his remorseless 
guilt, but his hour of sorrow and shame will inev- 
itably come ; nor will its anguish and bitterness be 
mitigated by its delay. If there be pangs which 
strike deeper into the soul, they must be his portion, 
who has betrayed the confiding, and ruined the inno- 
cent, who promised only to deceive, and cherish- 
ed only to destroy. Nor is purchased, advised, and 
consenting criminality, without its fearful penalties. 
A man who yields himself to vice, even in this form, 



TRAITS OP THE MAHONEES. 205 

nourishes a plant, whose fruit will be wormwood 
and gall : 

And partake of this fruit, though he loathe yet he must, • 
Till the world has his shame, and the grave has his dust. 

But I was speaking of Mahon. There is another 
feature in the population of this place which betrays 
their kindly dispositions. Sailors here are allowed 
to go upon shore on leave, — and on such occasions, 
they are apt to float widely from salutary restraint. 
They make merry, pass round their social circles 
the wild glass ; promenade the streets, break out in 
the jovial song, or address the passers by with as 
much familiarity, as if they were all shipmates, on 
board the same craft, and bound to the same delight- 
ful haven. Instead of resenting this freedom, or 
construing it into insolence, I have seen the most 
respectable citizen take the proffered hand of Jack, 
wish him a prosperous voyage, and a happy home 
wherever it might be. How different this from the 
treatment which the unceremonious Tar would meet 
with in one of our cities ! — He would probably be 
knocked down, or at least, thrust aside, with a re- 
buking severity. Not so here :— if too merry, it is 
excused; if impertinent, the best construction is 
placed upon it: if unfortunately out of his reckon- 
ing, he is taken within doors, till his senses and his 
gratitude return. I do admire, beyond the power 
of language to convey, this kind, forbearing and 
hospitable disposition. I would not exchange the 

18 



206 AMUSEMENTS. 

feelings and reflections of such an individual, for 
all the importance, which wealth and power can be- 
stow. The consciousness of having restored the 
wandering, and relieved the distressed, will com- 
mend the dying man to the grateful remembrance 
of his fellow beings, and even the mercy of his final 
Judge. 

The amusements usually indulged in here, are 
the opera, the masquerade, music, and dancing. 
Among these, the officers of our navy are prone to 
while off some of their long winter evenings. They 
are seldom carried to excess ; they are occasional 
escapes from the tedium vitse incident to winter 
quarters, and are secured, in a measure, from 
abuse, by the mediocrity of their splendor and attrac- 
tion. Entertainments of this character to possess 
an enduring interest, even for the gayest heart, 
must be sustained by an expense incompatible with 
the restricted resources of Mahon. How an intelli- 
gent community can be fervently devoted to objects 
of this nature, and find in them their principal 
excitements, is to me inconceivable. I would much 
sooner sit down in a chimney corner, with some 
scarred veteran of the field, who has survived the 
continental wars, and listen to his tale of conflict, 
rout, or victory ; or with some old sailor, who has 
unfurled his canvas in each sea and clime, and 
whose thoughts run on the breeze, the gale, or 
wreck; or with some prying antiquary, who has 



207 

sifted the dust of a perished city to find an unintel- 
ligible coin ; or most especially with some village 
m ate unseared by the world, — 

Whose thoughts run warmly back to early childhood ; — 

The airy swing, the nested bower, the wild wood, — 

The stream, the darting trout, the little boat, 

With mimic guns and mariners afloat ; 

The bounding ball, the balance on the rail, 

The dog that watched the sport, and wagged his tail; — 

A sister's bird that came at break of day, 

Caroled its merry song and_flew away. 

The entertainment of the opera is too refined for 
the rude taste of the sailor. A company of fifty or 
sixty were permitted, not long since, to attend one 
of these musical performances. They cheerfully 
paid the highest price for their tickets, and took 
their seats, expecting a rich treat. But it was soon 
evident that they had mistaken their port. You 
might see them glancing about, for a moment when 
they would be less observed, and then skipping out, 
as one escapes from the presence of a person whom 
he would not offend, and yet in whom he takes no 
interest. In less than an hour, they all disappeared. 
In the porch and court, some of them ventured their 
criticisms on the performance. " Did you ever hear 
such singing as that?" said Jack, "such backing 
and filling — such veering and hauling— such puf- 
fing and screaming — there is as much music in a 
boatswain's whistle ! — and then the language — such 
a jingling jargon — such a hanging on, and spinning 
out, in each word — it had no more meaning in it than 
the sound of the water behind a ship's keel." So 



208 sailor's sympathy. 

they agreed to put up the helm ; and striking up 
one of their old nautical songs, steered by many 
ambiguous tacks, for the ship. 

But the theatre in the tragic or comic seldom fails 
to affect or amuse this singular class of men. A num- 
ber of them went to see Othello acted ; they detected 
at once the diabolical deceit of Iago, and muttered 
their indignation. They became at length so ab- 
sorbed in the performance, especially in the charac- 
ter and fate of Desdemona, that when the jealous 
Moor came out to murder her in her sleep, they in- 
stantly sprang upon the stage, crying out " avast 
there, you black, bloody rascal f and were in the 
act of seizing him, when the curtain dropped, amid 
confusion and applause. This incident did not oc- 
cur here, or under my observation ; but the anec- 
dote was related to me by an eye witness. It dis- 
closes striking traits in the character of the sailor — : 
his credulous propensity — his quick and deep sus- 
ceptibility — his electrical promptitude in rescuing 
the helpless. He would throw away forty lives to 
protect an innocent being, and even an enemy he 
scorns to injure, when taken at a disadvantage. 

There is here, however, one source of entertain- 
ment — if that term may be applied to anything be- 
longing to the sanctuary — which must ever arrest 
the most careless ear, and which, though it make 
man no better, it surely cannot make him worse. 
It is the splendid organ of the cathedral, I could 



ORGAN AT MAHON. 209 

cheerfully sit on the cold pavement of that church, 
and listen to it till the highest candle that ever lit 
the shrine of the blessed Virgin flickered in its socket, 
In compass, power, and richness of melody, it is 
said to have no competitors, except one in Haar- 
lem, and one in Catania. Almost every musical 
instrument is here represented, and so closely do ■ 
some of its tones resemble the human voice, that 
when it was first set up, many of the audience, in 
their sudden wonder, rushed out of the cathedral. 

From the solemn and stately anthem, it passes 
with melodious dignity and ease, through all the 
varied expressions of the dramatic chorus, to the 
national ode, the capricious song-, the vanishing air. 
At one time it astounds and overwhelms you with a 
burst of thunder; you involuntarily look up, and 
expect to find the bolted cloud blackening over 
your head ; and then again in the terminating 
range of its matchless transitions, you imagine your- 
self listening to the dying strains of an seolian harp. 
I could not accuse Lord Exmouth of a foolish pro- 
digality, in his offer of a hundred thousand dollars 
for this noble instrument. But it was not thus to 
be obtained. An Arab and his barb, a devotee and 
the auxiliaries of his devotion, are seldom parted. 
But it needs not pride or superstition, to make one 
unwilling to part with such a treasure as this. I 
would almost as soon relinquish some inborn source 
of happiness and hope. 

18* 



210 FESTIVE GREETINGS. 

We were concerned on reaching this port to 
learn that the health of Commodore Biddle had not 
improved since our last advices. The duties of his 
station, as commander-in-chief of the squadron, re- 
quire a degree of physical activity and energy, which 
it is difficult to dispense with, even where, as in his 
1 case, there is found great elasticity and vigor of 
mind. But though oppressed with these outward 
disabilities, he is not unmindful or negligent of the 
interests confided to his care ; for we had scarcely 
let go our anchor, when an order came for us to get 
ready to proceed to sea, with all despatch. In the 
mean time, he honored us with an entertainment, 
where the choicest luxuries and delicacies of the 
island were served, and where the light and terse 
remark went sparkling round, accompanied by 
many endearing recollections of home. There was 
at this table dignity without reserve, and ease with- 
out a gregarian license; — there was also an una- 
bused Idomeneusan privilege, extended to each 
guest, such as Homer thought not beneath the 
melody of his muse : — 



-iryeiov Senas, aid 



The compliment of this dinner was handsomely 
returned by Capt. and Mrs. Read, who well under, 
stand how to impart interest and pleasure to such 
occasions. I can never leave one of these entertain- 
ments, without a boding thought of the time, when 



PARTING THOUGHTS, 211 

these interchanges of sentiment will be intercepted, 
the gratulations of friendship cease, and this breath- 
ing frame, inanimate and cold, be laid in its last sad 
receptacle, to mingle as it may with its native dust. 
The slight memorials that may remain, and the few 
who may remember and grieve, must soon follow; 
while the thronging multitudes of earth will move 
on, indifferent to what is gone, as the mighty forest 
to the silent lapse of a solitary leaf. Then what is 
life ! and what its pursuit ! 

" An idle chase of hopes and fears, 
Begun in folly, closed in tears I" 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Passage from Mahon to Naples— Life at Sea— Chest of a Sailor- 
Power of a Poet— Track of the Ship— Naples from the Harbor 
— Unreasonable Quarantine — Grievious Disappointment — Prema- 
ture Departure — Ebulition of Spleen. 

Three days since we weighed anchor from 
Mahon, in company with the Brandy wine, bearing 
the broad pennant of Commodore Biddle, the breeze 
has been extremely light and baffling ; and the pas- 
sage, though relieved occasionally by an interchange 
of signals, has nevertheless been thus far unusually 
destitute of exciting incidents. No bickering ghost 
has appeared in the cock-pit, or on shroud, or spar ; 
no mermaid has tuned her scallop-shell on the 
wave or rock ; no water-spout has burst in deluge 
and thunder ; no sea-serpent has troughed himself 
between the combing billows ; indeed, there have 
been no billows that could for a moment shelter this 
mysterious monster of the deep — whose sworn exist- 
ence has been a greater source of curiosity and 
wonder, than were all the discoveries of Columbus. 
Where was it that he was last seen ? Ay, I recollect ; 
it was in the polar seas, where he was trying to split 
up an iceberg with his tail. Every stroke was fol- 
lowed by flashes of fire that lit the whole heaven, 



PASSAGE TO NAPLES. 213 

and were taken by those living near the line, as the 
most splendid and extraordinary exhibitions of the 
aurora-borealis. Every astronomer through our 
land had his instruments newly cleaned, and watch- 
ed the burning phenomena, predicting not only that 
the north passage would be reduced to one vast lake of 
fire, but that the north star, set in conflagration and 
motion at the same time, would rush this way for a 
cooler atmosphere, and coming in contact with the 
earth, reduce the whole to ashes ! It is astonishing 
what this sea-serpent may do with a few stokes of 
his tail ! But I was speaking of the calm and slow 
progress we were making towards Naples. 

The sea has scarcely afforded a wave that would 
have dangerously rocked a log canoe ; but then as 
a negative compensation for this delaying calmness, 
we have not had that ceaseless surging motion, 
which afflicts the Atlantic, and which sickens a 
ship, without helping her onward. We have had 
the bursting splendors of a sun, wheeling up in 
resistless energy from a crimsoning waste of waters, 
that still slumbered and slept. We have had 
the soft beauty of twilight, mingling its purple 
charm with the rosy depths of sea and sky ; we have 
had, through the early watch, the song of the mari- 
ner, breathing in unpolished numbers a patriotic 
fervor, that will kindle on when all the set forms of 
speech are cold and forgotten ; we have had also the 
frequent cloud r which, though it often disappointed 



214 TRAITS OF THE SAILOR. 

us in its apparent promise of a breeze, yet reminded 
us in the evanescent nature of its own being, that 
the life of man itself is only a " vapor, that appeareth 
for a little time, and then vanisheth away." 

Would that these delicate admonitions in nature 
might never pass unimproved. But few things, 
even of the highest moment, produce a permanent 
effect on the mind of the sailor. Even the gale and 
wreck are half forgotten, if they but leave him a 
good plank upon which he may reach the distant 
shore. He knows not what a day may bring forth, 
yet hymns his jocund song, and sleeps soundly 
every night with but a plank between him and a 
fathomless grave. Yet he is not incapable of being 
moved, strongly moved on subjects of a religious cha- 
racter. His heart is not the impervious rock, it more 
resembles the element on which he moves, and like 
that, loses the impressions it may receive. He will 
listen to a sermon with an attention that might be a 
model to any congregation of Christians, and then 
within one hour, if some new impulse strikes him, 
he is off perhaps on another tack. He respects reli- 
gion and its consistent professors ; the good man has 
always his confidence and esteem. 

The Bible is with hin> — what it ought to be 
with every person — the book of books. Yet I have 
seen him take this blessed volume from his clothes- 
bag, leaving there close to where it lay a grape- 
shot attached to a strong lanyard, with which he 



TRAITS OF THE SAILOR. 215 

will perhaps, the next time he goes ashore, knock 
over a dozen insolent Goliaths. Observing a sailor 
one day overhauling his effects, I inquired, " Where 
Smith, are those tracts I gave you the other day?" 
" Here they are," he replied, producing them, " all but 
that one on stealing; I gave that to Joe Miller; I never 
steal myself; but it struck him exactly between wind 
and water." " And what book is that, stowed away 
there, Smith ?" I inquired again ; " O that is my 
Bible," he replied, lifting it up, with a cordial shake 
of the hand. " given me by my mother, the first time 
I went to sea, when I was only a youngster ; I pro- 
mised her I would read it every Sunday on shore, 
and every day when out-sight of land. You see I 
have steered as close to my promise as any fellow 
can with squalls, and a head sea knocking him off; 
but I hope I shall yet make that blessed port, where 
she has gone. For she was the best mother that ever 
had such a wild chap of a son as I have been." He 
had evidently been pretty true to his word ; for 
the traces of his fingers were upon nearly every 
page of the book, while the leaves of the more his- 
torical parts had been thumbled over, till they were 
scarcely legible. 

" And what is that thing stowed away down 
there, Smith, next the tracts?" I inquired. "O 
sir, that is a gouger." " But you do not take out 
a man's eyes, I hope ?" " Not unless the rascal is 
after mine, and then I blind one side of his face ; 



216 LIFE AT SEA. 

but I always leave him one eye standing." " Yes, 
but you take away the other, and what good can 
that do you ?" " Why, sir, he will have one the less 
to look after me with the next time." I persuaded 
him at last to throw the unseemly thing overboard ; 
but it will probably be replaced by something else, 
not a whit the less objectionable. Such is the mix- 
ture of shrewdness, filial regard, higher hopes, and 
moral obliquities, which enters into the character of 
the sailor. He is an ocean which no one can fath- 
om, unless he is able to sound the lowest depths in 
human nature. 

I know not why it is, but somehow, the mo- 
ment I get on the deck of a ship and am out at sea, 
it seems as if I had suddenly been introduced into 
some element rife with poetry. If any thing could 
reconcile me to a sea-life, it would be the enjoyment 
of this sentiment. I reverence in the profoundest 
emotions of my soul, the gifted poet. He is intel- 
lectually, in my opinion, the most interesting object 
in the world. He awakens and wields at will, all 
the finer feelings and master passions of our nature. 
His art is of a far higher and more effective or- 
der than that of the sculptor or painter. He not 
only represents, but he imparts life ; and this, no 
one can so thoroughly effect with the pencil or 
chisel. 

We may, to some extent animate the canvas 
with the features of one we love ; — we may cast 



POWER OF THE POET* 217 

upon the changeless brow, the calm sunshine of her 
gentle nature ; — we may elicit from the expressive 
eye, the speechless tenderness of a confiding affec- 
tion ; — we may curl around the lip the smiling 
pledges of reciprocal fondness ; — we may spread be- 
hind her glowing cheek, the richness of her flowing 
tresses; — we may cast around the symmetry of her 
form, the softness of her graceful drapery ; — and we 
may give her the air in which romantic devotion 
ever beholds the angel of its vows. We may repre- 
sent, near at hand, the favorite glen in which she 
strayed — the moon-lit arbor in which she sung — 
the silvery lake on which she sailed. We may look 
on this representation of life and nature, and deem it 
reality. We may gaze till bewildered sense reels in 
rapture. But look again — the floating vision be- 
comes more calm — the associations less vivid — the 
emotions in our breast subside. But look again — 
here and there a new shade may be developed, here 
and there an unfamiliar expression be caught. But 
look again — it is what you have seen before — it is 
a mass of changeless, pulseless shadows ! 

But give this glowing subject to the poet, surren- 
der it to the magic of his genius — the changeless 
object lives — the motionless object moves — the 
silent object speaks. The heart, where quenched 
existence had its grave, is kindled — and renovated 
life gleams through its shroud, as the warm sun, 
through its light vesture of clouds. The fount of 

19 



218 POWER OF THE POET. 

feeling is stirred, and its currents come forth, fresh 
as the overflowings of a spring, when it melts away 
the icy fetters of winter. The features lose their 
fixed expression, and are radiant with a bright train 
of passing thoughts, and glad imaginings. Hope is 
there, mingling its colors with the shades of doubt ; 
— confidence is there, banishing distrust ; — affection 
is there, lighting up adversity. Every feature lives, 
every look tells. We not only see the glen, but 
hear the soft whispers of the breeze, the mirthful 
voice of the brook ;— we not only see the arbor, but 
hear the echoes, waking from their slumbers, repeat 
the favorite strain ; — we not only see the lake, but 
hear the light drip of the suspended oar, and the soft 
murmur of the breaking wave. Every object is 
animated, and lives before us in palpable reality. 
We may gaze — and turn away — and gaze again — 
but new images, new sounds, new feelings, and new 
associations crowd upon us like stars on the steadfast 
vision of the astronomer. 

Or we may shape the marble to the features of 
the man we venerate ; we may render these fea- 
tures radiant with the qualities of his mind and 
heart ; we may make the ruling passion brightly 
apparent upon the majestic brow ; we may give 
the countenance that peculiar cast, which calls up 
the lofty, and the tender recollection ; and we may 
imagine the departed sage still existent and before us 7 
in undecaying strength ; — but lay our hand on this 



FRESH BREEZE. 219 

faultless resemblance — the clay of the grave is not 
colder — it is death with its icy chill ! 

But commit this departed saint to the gifted 
spirit of the poet — the veil of the grave is rent — 
the silent sleeper called up from the couch of cor- 
ruption, and dressed in the garments of immortality. 
His actions are grouped around him, in the bright- 
ness of their first appearance ; — his feelings recalled 
in the freshness of their infancy ; — his secret mo- 
tives are revealed in the purity with which they 
were conceived ; — and his generous purposes, which 
perished in the bud, revived and expanded into 
fragrant life. You see the whole man, not in cold 
marble, not in awful abstraction from his fellow 
beings — but within the warm precincts of friendship, 
love, and veneration, invested with the sympathies 
and attributes of real existence. Such is the power 
of the poet — such his mastery over life and death ! 
He stands, prophet like, over a vast ocean of thought, 
passion, and sympathy, that heaves and rolls at the 
stroke of his wand. 

The breeze for which we have been long and 
anxiously looking has come at last. It is light, but 
fair, and promises to take us to our port ; for before 
this watch goes out we are expecting to hear the 
cry of " land" from mast-head. Another break in 
my journal. 

It is now one of those soft and brilliant days, 
which are no strangers to the clime of Italy ; and 



220 NAPLES FROM THE HARBOR. 

our ships, under a light, easy sail, are passing tip the 
splendid bay of Naples. This bay circles up bold 
and beautiful into the land; where it lies quietly 
embosomed within a sweeping range of green and 
picturesque elevations. The city, from the shelving 
shore, ascends majestically this amphitheatre of 
hills, presenting at a glance its palaces, domes, tem- 
ples, and towers, with all the fresher luxuries of the 
garden and the grove. More remote, and towering 
far above all, stands Vesuvius — a magnificent 
"pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by night." All 
the nobler elements, — earth, air, flame and flood, — 
have mingled the romance of their richest triumphs, 
above, beneath, and around, Naples. And then, as 
if to excite the last degree of admiring wonder and 
awaken an insatiable curiosity, the veil of centuries 
has been rent, and the embalmed remains of a Her- 
culaneum and Pompeii brought up from their long 
mysterious repose ! Thus the present and the past, 
the charms of the living and the hallowed beauty of 
the dead move before us, in the centre of a scene 
that might of itself almost induce an angel to pause 
on his earnest commission. 

But it is our privilege only to look and admire ; 
for all communication with the shore has been cut 
off by the imposition of a quarantine ; though there 
is not the slightest disease, or scarcely a case of indis- 
position on board ; nor have we been where it was 
possible for us to reach any exposure. There would 



NAPLES FROM THE HARBOR. 221 

have been as much sense in Adam's quarantining 
Eve, when he saw her first come in blushing beauty 
to his bower. And I have no doubt, that our fair 
mother would have borne the restrictions, had our 
noble progenitor unaccountably imposed them, 
with vastly more good nature, than it is possible for 
us to muster on this occasion. 

Our quarantine is for seven days ; but before we 
can ride it out, we shall be obliged to leave for the Le- 
vant ! This is a draft on a man's resignation, heavy 
enough to shake the self-complacent credit of any 
Christian or philosopher. Here we lie, only a few 
cables' length from the shore, seeing the picturesque 
multitude passing on their unknown errands — the 
pleasure party floating off for some rural retreat, in 
gaiety and glee — the monarch and his court moving 
with all the ensigns of royalty — the wandering mins- 
trel tuning his reed, and turning even his sorrows into 
melody — hearing through the long evening the loud 
cheers of some festive hearts — or the bursting 
chorus of St. Carlos, as it comes wafted on the 
wind ; while the frequented gardens gleam with the 
radiance of their countless lights, and the flame of 
Vesuvius fringes with fire the wings of the passing 
cloud. All these are to be left unrealized — unap- 
proached! and this, too, in compliance with the 
mockeries of a senseless quarantine ! But this 
scene so bright, so gay, and seemingly so full of hap- 
piness is all an illusion — a fleeting phantom. It is a 

19* 



222 THE WORLD. 

flower that springs from corruption ; — a laughter at 
the grave. 

How darkly changed this world since that first hour, 
When o'er its brightness sung the morning stars : 

Time, death, and sin, and sorrow had no power 
Upon its beauty : man, who madlv mars 

His Maker's works, has swept it with a flood 

Of tears and groans, and deluged it with blood. 

It has become a Golgotha, where lie 

The bleaching bones of nations ; every wave 

Breaks on a shore of skulls; and every sigh 
The low wind murmurs forth, seems as it gave 

This mournful tribute, unobserved and deep, 

To millions— for whom man has ceased to weep. 

It is a dim and shadowy sepulchre, 
In which the dying and the dead become 

The hearse of all the living; yet the stir 
And sting of serpent-passion, and the hum 

Of jocund life survive, with but a breath 

Between this reckless revelry and death. 

It is a rolling tomb, rumbling along, 

Jn gloom and darkness, through the shud'ring spheres ; 
And filled with death and life, and wail and song, 

Laughter and agony, and jests and tears; 
And— save its heartless mirth, and ceaseless knell — 
"Wearing a ghastly glimmering type of hell! 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Passage from Naples to Messina— Volcano of Stromboli— Dead Calms 
—Utility of Whales— Pastimes in Calms — Faro di Messina— Charib- 
dis and Scylla— Ancient Whirlpool— Curiosities of the sea— Ter- 
rors of Homer's Muse — Messina from the Strait. 

Our anchor was again weighed, our lighter sails 
unfurled, and swinging round near the Brandy wine, 
we received the parting benediction of three cheers; 
which were returned, more in sadness than mirth. 
All our canvas was soon spread to a light breeze, 
which began to prevail from the north-east, and 
passing out the ample bay, we held our course along 
the soft shores of Italy, for the straits of Messina. 
We met with no objects calculated to leave a distinct 
and abiding impression, till we reached the lofty 
steeps of Stromboli. We passed the burning mount 
of this lonely island in the night ; it was still kind- 
ling its magnificent watch-fire in the sky. It has 
been termed with significant propriety the light- 
house of the Mediterranean. How triumphant is 
nature, in all her works, over the achievements of 
man ! He lights his anxious beacon on the verge 
of some troubled coast, and by unremitted watchings 
is able perhaps, for a little time, to sustain its poor 



224 CALM AT SEA. 

perishing ray. But nature, at once, without an 
effort, kindles up a beacon-flame, that lights an 
ocean, and burns on through ages undimmed and 
unexhausted. The tempest may prevail above, the 
earthquake rock beneath, navies sink, and nations 
perish, but this flame burns on with a serene and 
lofty splendor — quenchless as the light of the 
sun. 

We are again in a dead calm — like a politician 
in disgrace ; but the misfortune is, we have not his 
facilities for getting out of it. He has only to go 
over to the other party, and his very blots become 
honorable scars. It requires, to be sure, a little flex- 
ibility of conscience ; but what a fool a man is, to 
be sticking to principles, when office, honor and 
wealth lie in a different quarter. It is like keeping 
" Poor Julia's Ring," and watering the flowers at her 
grave, when living damsels with their beauty and 
their bowers invite one away. Remembrance can- 
not bring back to life the one that has perished from 
our bosom ; nor can fidelity to principles that have 
become unpopular, reinstate them in the humor of 
the age. The better way is to leave them to their 
fate, and take after those where something may be 
got besides the stale credit of believing this year 
what we did last. It shows no march of mind. It 
is merely repeating the past ; it is chasing the rain- 
bow in our gray hairs, because we did it in the 
sunny locks of childhood. Is the nurse's tale of the 



CALM AT SEA. 225 

silver spoons always to be believed? No, the bet- 
ter way is, for a man to change his creed and his 
character too, when the times require. A coat that 
is often turned, will out- wear ten that never under- 
go this revolution ; and what is more, it will never 
be rusty. It may have in the end a variety of 
colors, — but so has the peacock, and who thinks the 
less of that bird for the numberless dyes, which 
sprinkle the beautiful spread of its tail ? But what 
have peacocks and politicians to do with our getting 
to the Levant ? 

We are still in this dead calm. I wonder that 
in this age of moon-touching baloons, steam-shav- 
ing machines, and patents for prolonging life, it has 
never occurred to any one that the whale may 
be turned to a most excellent account. I allude not 
to his blubber — I leave that to poets and all who 
burn the mid-night taper ; — I refer to his strength — 
his power of going ahead. Just catch about forty 
of these fellows — by some process similar to that 
used in catching the wild horse of our prairies — 
and harness them — two abreast, to a man-of-war — 
with a taught rein in the hand of father Neptune, who 
I have no doubt could be procured as postillion, and 
then good-bye to your steam, though it have a mil- 
lion horse power, and a thunder-cloud for its safety- 
valve ! I intend applying to congress for funds to 
make the experiment, or at least for some special 
privileges on the subject. But the difficulty would 



226 calm at sea: 

be, if that body were to get upon a discussion of its 
merits, the Nantucket boys, seeing that in the event 
of my success, " Othello's profession is gone," would 
harpoon every whale before congress had finished 
their speeches, or I had obtained my patent. I must 
therefore hit upon some expedient that may expe- 
dite the delivery of these speeches. The thought 
strikes me : — 

To save at once this fatal waste of time, 
I'll get a gun that works by fire and steam ; 

And then let every member load and prime, 
With all the speeches he can write or dream ; 

For Perkins being right, this patent power, 
Will shoot off ninety thousand in an hour. 

The steep rocks of Stromboli are still in sight ; 
when they will sink in the distance, I know not ; 
we have not logged a fathom for several watches ; 
our sails hang idly against the mast ; our dog-vane 
has gone to sleep ; we are in a motionless calm. 

No breath from mountain, cloud, or cavern creeps 
Along the water's hushed expanse; the wave, 

Unbroken in its tranquil aspect, sleeps 
Serene as Beauty in her sunless grave; 

Nor moves a tide, unless its silent flow 

Be through the caves and coral halls below. 

Sated with gazing on this sleeping sea, 
Some seek, their lines and set themselves to angling; 

Some take to politics, and being free 

Of fact, and full of feeling, fall to wrangling; 

While some, wreckless alike of soul and body, j 
Practise at fisti-cuffs, and drink their toddy. , 

While others, more sedate, lie stretched at length, 
Yawning on coils of rope, the deck, or cot ; 

A few while off their time in feats of strength ; 
While here and there one, restless of his lot, 

Thinks only of a distant eye and lip, 

And rues the day on which he saw a ship. 



STRAITS OF MESSINA. 227 

Some look up to the sky and watch each cloud, 

As it displays its faint and fleeting form ; 
Some o'er the calm begin to mutter loud, 

And swear they would exchange it for a storm, 
Tornado, any thing— to put a close 
To this most dead, monotonous repose. 

What if that oath were heard 1 what if the gale 
Rashly invoked, should lift the surging sea — 

This noble ship be swept of mast and sail, 
And breakers lift their voice beneath her lee 1 

Those lips might only breathe the strangling tone 

Of one expiring gasp and bubbling groan. 

Death is a fearful thing, come how it may — 
Fearful when it comes on like some repose, ■ 

In which our breath and being ebb away, 
As music to its mild, melodious close, 

And where no parting pangs a shadow cast 

On that sweet look, tne loveliest and the last. 

Not in this form the ship-wrecked sailor dies, — 

A sudden tempest, or a latent rock, 
And on the gale his fluttering canvas flies, 

Or down he sinks in one engulfing shock ; 
While through the closing wave ascends the prayer 
Of one, striking his strong arms in despair. 

The breeze at last came, and Stromboli sunk in 
the horizon. 

On reaching the Straits — the Faro di Messina 
— we realized but few of those obstructions and 
perils, which so threatened and impeded the navi- 
gation of the ancients. It is true, that what may 
have carried dismay and disaster to their frail gal- 
lies, which seldom ventured out sight of land, 
may be perfectly harmless to our keeled masses of 
daring and conquering strength. But still it is 
inconceivable how even their diminutive ships, with 
their double banks of oars and muscular arms to 



228 CHARIBDIS AND SCYLLA. 

manage them, could have found such a serious 
source of difficulty and apprehension. The man 
who should now, like the hero of Virgil, circumna- 
vigate the island of Sicily, to escape the dangers of 
these straits, would be an object of merriment. 
But Eneas must be forgiven ; he not only fol- 
lowed the warning voice of an oracle, but Palinu- 
rus, his pilot, was little skilled in his profession, and 
had also an unfortunate tendency to slumber on his 
watch. 

The oft quoted proverb, which so briefly dooms 
a man to ruin, turn which way he will — 

Incidit in Scyllam, qui vult vitare Charybdem, 

may flourish very well as a figure of speech, in a 
younker's first oratorical display ; but it has no 
foundation in truth. A log-canoe, paddled with a 
decent degree of skill, may shun Charibdis without 
falling upon Scylla. Yet story relates how enor- 
mous ships have been dashed to fragments upon this 
mountain rock ; or in their escape of this disaster, 
have fallen within the sweep of the opposite whirl- 
pool ; where, after being carried about, in helpless 
plight, upon the absorbing circle, they have gone 
down and disappeared forever. If there be, be- 
neath these devouring waters, mermaids of taste and 
a piratical conscience, doubtless their fair fingers are 
now adorned with many a jeweled ring, that once 



TREASURES OF THE OCEAN. 129 

flashed on the hand of Grecian beauty. What 
mysteries doth not the sea contain, which will never 
be unfolded, or even conjectured ! 

I have often thought that of all revelations in 
nature, an exhibition of the secrets of the sea, would 
possess the most thrilling interest. Were I permit- 
ted to explore but one untraversed realm, I should 
prefer that vast empire of curiosities, which lies 
within and beneath the ocean. How little do we know 
of it ! We catch a luckless fish and classify it, be- 
cause it has fins like something which we have seen 
before ; we draw up a lobster, and because he has 
wide claws, determine that he may either crawl or 
swim ; we detach a bit of coral from its low mound 
or tree, and because it has cells, decide that some in- 
sect-bee of the water must have formed it : or we 
pick up a few shells, which the returning tide has 
left on the beach as unworthy of its care, and be- 
cause they are not found on the roofs of our houses, 
declare them most rare curiosities. Thus ends our 
knowledge, but not our pride and prattle ; for 
those who can utter the most absurdities about 
these strange things, are dubbed philosophers ; and 
the whole world is expected to do homage to the 
depth, extent, and minuteness of their learning. 
How entirely the greatness of one rests on the igno- 
rance of another : strike away the foundation and 
the fabric falls. 

But I forget the straits and their poetical terrors. 
20 



230 WHIRLPOOL OP CHARYBDIS. 

Homer describes Scylla as a steep mass of rock, 
towering so near the sky that even a thin cloud can- 
not shove itself between, without having its drapery 
raked off; when in truth it has scarcely an elevation 
of two hundred feet, with a little fort on the top, 
harmless alike to the bird that floats above, and the 
ship that sails beneath. As for the monsters, which 
Virgil, or his muse, heard howl so terrifically around 
the base of the rock, they are nothing more than 
the echoes of the waves entering rather unceremo- 
niously a few low caverns ; but which have not a 
fierceness of accent sufficient to startle a young duck 
from its slumber. 

The whirlpool of Charybdis — from whose de- 
vouring vortex Ulysses escaped alone to tell the tale'of 
his lost ship and perished crew — exhibits now only 
a broken disquietude of wave, without even a uni- 
formity of circle, much less an absorbing centre. 
Brydone, to vindicate the nautical skill of the hero, 
and the sober veracity of the muse, would fain make 
us believe that a deluge of rocks has been carried 
into this vortex, and that thus it has become the 
tame thing we now see. This learned sceptic could 
not yield his faith to the reasonableness of the Mo- 
saic history, and yet conceives that rocks may float 
around like slabs, and finally fill up a pit, which was 
deemed almost bottomless ! How admirably the 
creed of a man may adapt itself to his pride and pre- 
judice ! He creates a world from accidents to sus- 



ASPECT OF MESSINA. 231 

tain a theory, and destroys it by the same agency to 
establish a conjecture ! 

On the projecting land, to which Charybdis is a 
sort of threatening out-post, we observed a scattered 
collection of dwellings, the appearance of which 
would seem to intimate that the fabled horrors of 
this pass, had still power not only to intimidate the 
mariner, but even to drive happiness and hope from 
the hearth of the peasant. But I do not wonder 
that men should hesitate to build there, or tremble 
over an hour's delay on that spot ; for it was here, 
that, in the dreadful earthquake of 1783, two thou- 
sand perished. The waters of the strait were vio- 
lently heaved from their bed, over their natural boun- 
dary, and the returning surge left but here and there 
one, even to weep over the desolation. 

But Messina, as we glided slowly up to it 
through the channel, mainly fixed our attention. 
It lies in the form of a crescent, sweeping up an 
easy elevation of hills, with a back-ground of bolder 
eminences, and the clustering depths of forest shade. 
The harbor lies deep and tranquil, embosomed with- 
in the circling shore and a salient reach of land, 
whose falcated form stretches nearly round it, pro- 
tecting it from the invading currents and rushing 
surge of the strait. The busy aspect of the quays, 
and the varied flags which floated above the an- 
chored craft, showed that Messina had not yet lost 
its consideration in the commercial world. It has 



232 sicily. 

been the most unfortunate of cities. The earth- 
quake and plague have alternately made it their 
victims. It has been the sad arena, where through 
centuries foreign avarice and despotism have 
played their bloody game. 

How fallen is Sicily ! once the garnery of Europe, 
now almost begging her bread ; once giving laws 
to nations, now the veriest slave of a petty prince ; 
once the source of science and freedom, now with- 
out light to discover her own rights, or courage to 
maintain them. 

Land of a past and perished greatness, wake! 

Let sire and son now draw the battle glaive, 
Their long-endured, disgraceful fetters break, 

And strongly strike for freedom, or the grave ; 
Swear not to clank the chain, to blush and weep 
On those proud hills, in which their fathers sleep. 



CHAPTER XX. 

Excursion to Mount Etna— Sleeping in a Corn-field— Incidents of 
the Ascent — Storm at Night — View from the Summit — Descent 
— Catania— Gaiety of the Living above the Dead — Museum of the 
Prince of Biscari — Franciscan Monk. 

We were now on shore at Messina — not to sur- 
vey and admire its monuments, or weep over its 
political degradation. We were chartering two 
vehicles of sufficient strength to take us to the foot 
of Mount Etna. Some of my companions suggested 
the propriety of first visiting the cathedral, as the 
stately columns which support its gilded roof once 
belonged to a proud temple of Neptune ; but being 
in a state of negociation with this aquatic charioteer 
to drive my whales, as soon as I should get them 
fairly harnessed, and knowing how compliments in 
such cases always increase prices, I declined. 
Others mentioned a beautiful being in the nunnery of 
St. Gregorio, but the face of her who dwells in Santa 
Clara was yet too bright and perfect in my thoughts 
— that sweet image shall rest there unmixed and 
unmarred. I was for Mount Etna, though every 
leaf of the forests that stretch between should become 
a timid nun. 

We left in two hackney coaches, and with Etna 
20* 



234 TRAVELING INCIDENT. 

in our thoughts, took but little notice of objects by 
the way : — a man in pursuit of a whale never stops 
to harpoon a porpoise. We paused for a few mo- 
ments to dine, but whether on fowl or fish, I know 
not ; nor can I speak of the characteristics of the 
host or hostess : the huntsman tracking the lion, is 
not expected to notice the squirrel that chatters and 
cracks his nuts on the limb. Night came on, but 
we bade our postillion not to stop while man or 
beast could keep the road, or find it if lost. Yet 
strange as it may seem, we fell asleep ; but the hero 
of Marengo and Austerlitz slept before the battle of 
Waterloo : 

" He sleeps !— * while earth around him reels, 

And mankind's million hosts combine 
Against the sceptre-sword which seals 

Their fate from Lapland to the Line — 

While, like a giant roused from wine, 
Grim Europe, startling, watches him, 

The warrior-lord of Lodi's field — 

O'er Jana's rout who shook his shield- 
Is hushed in slumber dim !" 

We slept also ! — not to awake like him, amid thun- 
der, conflagration, and carnage, but to a situation 
seemingly as full of peril. Our horses had stopped ; 
it was the hush of midnight; and what but the 
strong arms of robbers could be at the bit ! One 
seized a pair of pistols, another an old broad-sword. 
I leveled a blunderbuss — knowing its bell-muzzle to 
have a scattering faculty that must strike some one. 
however tremulously untrue the aim. We disco- 
vered, however, no enemy, no daring demander of 



TRAVELING INCIDENT. 235 

life or purse. The fact was, our postillion had long 
since sunk to sleep ; the reins and whip had fallen 
from his hands, and the horses, which had been hard 
pushed through the day, not partaking of our enthu- 
siasm, had wandered — probably to look out for the 
feed which our impatience had denied them — far 
away into an old corn-field: 

"In a corn-field, high and dry, 

There lay gun-boat number one, 
Wiggle wiggle went its tail, 
And pop it went its gun." 

But our craft did not even wiggle ; and my 
bluuderbuss, so far from being in a condition to give 
notice of our distress, hacl no flint in its lock, — indeed 
the lock itself was among the missing ! How this 
fact should have escaped me, when I leveled at 
what I supposed to be a robber, is a thing which I 
cannot fully explain ; but I did then suppose that a 
pull of the trigger would be fatal to somebody. I 
am thankful on the whole, that there was no rob- 
ber and no lock; for I never liked the idea of kill- 
ing a fellow being ; I should prefer, but for the re- 
flection it might bring on my courage to be robbed. 
I always admired one trait in Falstaff — he never in- 
jured living man ; even on the field of battle his 
assaults were upon those, who, without the least 
pang, derived from every blow he dealt, only an- 
other evidence that they had fought bravely — he 
wounded only the dead ! Such indeed were his 
principles of humanity, his nice sense of honor, that 



236 TRAVELING INCIDENT 

sooner than draw his sword upon any living being, 
he would, where a reputation for courage required 
that blood should be drawn, wound himself. I pre- 
sent him to those who have renounced the rights 
of self-defence, as the best exemplar I have ever yet 
met with of their self-sacrificing nonentities. 

Where was it we brought up ? — ay, I recollect 
— it was in the corn-field. Our postillion with his 
head rolled over on to one shoulder, and his idle 
arms resting before him, was still in deep slumber ; 
while his brutes were making, at drowsy intervals, 
their long and slowly recovered nods ; — take them as 
a group, they were the yery type of sleep. To 
rouse them at once and effectually, I determined, 
upon the impulse of the moment, to discharge the 
blunderbuss, kill whom it might. But then that 
want of a lock — it was a poser, — besides the barrel 
had no powder in it— a thing which, lam told, con- 
tributes considerably to the noise. At last I raised 
several tremendous whoops — a faculty which I ac- 
quired during my residence among the Pottawatta- 
mies, on the shore of Lake Michigan. It had the 
effect — man and beast awoke from their sea of 
dreams, and even Night starting from his ebon 
throne let fall his leaden wand. 

After boxing about some time among the bushes 
to find a substitute for our lost whip, we started — 
recovered the road, and though anxious to make up, 
by a forced speed, for the time lost in the corn-field, 



APPROACH TO THE MOUNT. 237 

yet we did not reach Catania till a late hour of the 
morning. Here we took thirteen mules — five as 
substitutes for our own legs — five as sumpters — and 
three for the accommodation of the guide and mule- 
teers. Thus equipped, with provisions for three days, 
and with great coats and blankets sufficient to pro- 
tect us in a region of ice, we started a little before 
mid-day for the top of Etna. We were determined 
to see the next sun rise from the summit of that 
mount. 

Our road lay for fifteen miles, among the rugged 
reefs of lava, disgorged in the last irruption. Ev- 
ery thing around had the appearance of a vast lake, 
tumbled in a storm, and suddenly changed to solid 
blackness. The sides of the mountain, as we ap- 
proached it presented features of a still bolderfierce- 
ness. The huge rock, the toppling crag, the pro- 
truding bluff, stood forth in frightful wildness from 
the channels and chasms which past torrents of 
fire had left behind. The summit, with its cloud 
of smoke and shaking cone, crowned the whole 
with a dark befitting terror. 

Ai sunset, having reached the verge of the woody 
zone, we alighted for rest and refreshment. We 
here changed our summer apparel for that of winter; 
the great coats which had been put on our sumpters 
by our trusty guide — and which we should wholly 
have neglected — were now in eager requisition* 
Thus protected, and with spirits and strength reno- 



238 STORM AT NIGHT. 

vated by the repast, we mounted again and renewed 
the ascent. Day-light had gone, but the sky was 
clear and the light of the stars was sufficient for 
our practised guide. Our mules were sure footed, 
and we had only to relinquish ourselves to their 
superior sagacity. 

At a little before midnight, while approaching 
the foot of the great cone, where we were to part 
with our faithful animals, and where indeed we 
were to wait for the break of day, things began to 
wear a fearful change. Frequent clouds swept past 
us; but there was one at some distance which 
seemed more stationary — gathering in bulk and 
blackness. Our guide anxiously watched it, as it 
collected its strength and threw out its snagged 
flukes, and quickly leading the way up a steep 
ledge, called vehemently upon us to follow. We 
had only gained the ridge when the tempest came. 
It appeared to me to be the last position one should 
seek under the tornado which now swept us, for we 
were obliged instantly to dismount and hold on to 
the sharp points of the rock. Our mules placed 
themselves instinctively in a posture presenting the 
least resistance to the rushing element. It was soon 
apparent why our guide had taken refuge on this 
unsheltered steep ; for, as the cloud struck the side 
of the mountain, its enfolded lake descended in deluge 
and thunder. Rocks and large masses of ice, dis- 
engaged by its violence, rolled down on each side of 



ASCENT OF THE MOUNT. 239 

us and over the very track on which we were mov- 
ing but a few moments before. Though separated 
from each other but a few feet, yet no one could 
make himself heard ; the torrents around and the 
thunder above overpowered even the loudly vocifer- 
ated admonitions of our guide. There was at one 
moment a darkness that might be felt, and then at 
another the lightning, flashing down through the 
rifts of the cloud, would make the slightest pebble 
visible in its searching light. An hour of these 
dread alternations, while torrents and rocks were 
rolling on each side of us — and the storm went past. 
We were drenched to the skin, while our outer gar- 
ments began to be stiff with ice, yet with a shivering 
accent, we could speak to each other once more. It 
was the language of one spirit rallying and anima- 
ting another. Capt. Read with characteristic ener- 
gy, was the first to mount. 

Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum. 

The reader, without undergoing our fatigue, or 
being wearied with a detail of incident, will now 
conceive us about two thousand feet above the 
point where we had encountered the storm — in a 
substantial shelter at the foot of the great cone — 
around a grate of coal, which we had brought with 
us from Catania — warming our fingers — snapping 
the ice out of our coats — toasting Etna in a bumper 
of its own wine — and watching for the break of day. 



240 VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT. 

That hour comes : and now let him take his stand with 
us on the highest point of the cone, ten thousand 
feet above the level of the sea, and imagine the 
whole island of Sicily with its peaks and glens, its tor- 
rents and valleys, its towns and forests, with the brok- 
en line of its bold shores stretched beneath in one vast 
panoramic view — the sun, wheeling up out of the dis- 
tant sea — the heavens flushed with its splendor — the 
mountain pinnacles burning in its beam — the great 
cone shaking with the throes of the unresting ele- 
ment within — the crater sending up its volumes of 
steep cloud — and the central lake of fire flashing up 
through the darkness, like terrific glimpses of the 
bottomless abyss ! But the reality overpowers all 
description ! I drop my pen, and half accuse my- 
self of rashness in having made even this brief 
attempt. 

We effected the descent without any serious 
injury, though I had myself rather a narrow 
escape. My mule made a misstep — the only fault of 
the kind he had committed during the excursion. I 
fell over his head, and turned many somersets ; on 
looking back, I saw my mule standing on the verge 
of the slope, and disregarding every thing else, 
directing his anxious look to me. There was sor- 
row and self-accusation in that look — I forgave him. 
Beckoning to him, he came down, snuffed about my 
mangled hat, and when I remounted, pricked up his 
ears, and started on with the most assured tread. 



RETURN TO CATANIA. 241 

From that time I have never seen this animal re- 
ceive a stroke of the lash ? without a feeling of disqui- 
etude. 

We reached Catania at sunset, in fine spirits, 
and not the least so, Mrs. K,., who had sustained all 
the perils and hardships of the expedition with won- 
derful courage and energy. That night we slept 
soundly, as well we might, for we had been up two 
nights without any sleep, except the nap in the 
corn-field, and that would have been less long had 
there been any powder in the barrel of my blunder- 
buss ; for I have a wonderful tact at getting any- 
thing off that is loaded. My first exploits in gun- 
nery were with the pop-gun — the dear little thing ! 

I do advise those who propose to fight 
A duel, when they feel their honor pricked, 

To use this pop-gun — 'tis so very light, 
And what is more, so safe— none ever kicked, 

Or burst, unless it had too thin a shell, 

And then the little thing does just a3 well. 

The Etna fever, which hurried us blindly past 
all other objects on our way to the mount, hav- 
ino; subsided, we determined to defer our return to 
the ship, and glance at some of the features of Cata- 
nia. Thi§ is a beautiful city, though built upon one 
vast field of lava, with the dead beneath, a volcano 
above, and the frightful monuments of the earth- 
quake around, I know not why it is, but some 
how in this strange world, beauty, danger and 
death, are always in the same group. The sweetest 

21 



242 NATURE AND MAN. 

violet I ever saw, bloomed among wreaths of snow 
on a sister's grave. 

The amphitheatre, where the ancient Catanians 
held their sports, and where they may have been 
suddenly engulfed in a flood of fire, stands seventy 
feet beneath the gay promenade of the present town. 
This gigantic structure is built itself of lava, and 
for aught we can tell, may have been reared over 
play-houses, entombed in some eruption of a still 
earlier date. Thus it ever is in this world ; on 
land, the votary of pleasure indulges his mirth over 
the bones of a perished race ; and on the ocean, the 
mariner lightly hymns his song on a wave, through 
which have sunk thousands to re-appear no more. 
We present to heaven a picture of life and death, 
mirth and madness, over which angels might won- 
der and weep ! 

Nature often atones for the fierceness of present 
calamities in the beauty of remote results. The 
ashes that fall in the burning breath of the volcano, 
nourish plants which are to bloom above those they 
have buried ; and the forest, which now encircles 
Catania, waves more luxuriantly than the one char- 
red beneath. The vegetable life and bloom which 
followed the subsiding waters of the great deluge, 
were not less fresh and fair, than what had been swept 
away. But man covers the world with his slain — 
leaving their flesh to the vulture, their bones to the 



MUSEUM OP BISCARI. 243 

accents of the last trump, and his own guilt to the 
disposal of a final Judge ! 

We visited, while at Catania, the museum of the 
prince of Biscari — the largest and most richly stored 
private cabinet in the world. I pass by the statues 
of the ancient deities, for time and disaster have been 
as fatal to their forms, as inspiration has to their wor- 
ship. I pass by the collection of shells, for none in 
all their vast variety, has the tone and rainbow 
beauty of the one through which the mermaid 
breathed my dying dirge. I pass by the vases 
which held the wines, and the lamps which lighted 
the festivities of the ancients ; for who would gaze on 
the nail of the coffin, in which youth and affection 
have sunk from light and life ? I pass by the count- 
less minerals and gems — they shed no rays of such 
living light as those which beam from the eye of the 
bright gazelle. I pass by the million of embalmed 
insects, — others swarm the field and forest happy 
in the life which they have lost. I pass by — no I 
will not — the expressive statue of Cleopatra. The 
heart throbs beneath its beauty — the eye swims 
when lifted to that last look of suicidal despair. 

Leaving the museum, we encountered a humble 
Franciscan in his simple attire — his uncovered head 
and sandals. He presented us with some flowers, 
and received in his thin pale hand our little chari- 
ties. Poor pilgrim ! what is this world to thee 1 
Thou hast renounced its wealth, its pleasures, its 



244 CAVALIER SERVENTE. 

restless spirit of enterprise : thy home is not here — ■ 
is it in heaven ? — art thou indeed going to that better 
land, where the strife and vanities of earth never 
come ? May the privations of thy lot atone for the 
mistaken virtues of thy creed. 

If I determine to become a monk, I will come 
here and join the Benedictines. They have a 
splendid monastery, richly endowed — luxuriant gar- 
dens — sumptuous fare — nothing to do — they live 
like gentlemen. If any one questions the usefulness 
of such a life, I can only say, let him attend to his 
own business. What concern is it of his, if, like a 
silk-worm, I wind myself up in my own web? Let 
him not attempt to wind my house on to his bobbin. 

Cicisbeoism prevails among the higher classes in 
Catania. It passes as a pure platonic affection — 
infringing no marriage obligation — no law of mo- 
rality — no rule of rigid propriety — merely a chaste 
friendship — innocent as a new-born babe. It does, 
to be sure, encourage a peculiar intimacy, and may 
perhaps diversify the features of the younger mem- 
bers of the family ; but what of that ? No sentiment 
of delicacy has been publicly shocked — and no one 
dies before his time comes : — let the exquisite 
arrangement alone. Never was there a charmer of 
the bird with so beautiful a skin, so bright an eye, 
and so venomous a fang ! It is the devil himself 
disguised as an angel of light ! 

Leaving Catania — the excellent hotel of the at- 



RETURN TO MESSINA. 245 

tentive Abatti — and traveling the remaining half of 
the day and the succeeding night, we arrived at 
Messina at the break of day. The leaves were wet 
with the dew, and the first rays of the sun were 
among them. 

Heavens, what a goodly sight ! the morning blushing 
Through the drops of night, more beautiful appears 

Than any damsel with the life-blood rushing 
To her modest cheeks, while they are bathed in tears ; 

Its rosy glow deep on the orient flushing, 
Kindles in flame that little cloud which rears 

Its crest, as if 'twere into heaven creeping — 

Such morn as this was never meant for sleeping. 

The stars — the little stars, whose bright creation 

Seems as a laughing miracle to me, 
In fading loveliness desert their station, 

And scud in haste towards eternity: 
Night's silent queen, a meek-eyed revelation 

Of all that's bright and best in purity 
And innocence, jealous Aurora's painting, 
Like to a bride at nuptial altar fainting. 

Sweet star, that lingers still on yon steep height,' 
Knowest thou not that thou art wondrous pale? 

Why keep thy timid watch in deep day-light? 
Dost list some poor deluded lover's tale — 

Too long to be all told in one brief night? 

Come— spread thy pinion to the morning gale, 

And haste away, thy sisters all are gone — 

I would not see thee lingering there alone. 

Lone star, the loveliest creature thou, 
That ever smiled its sweetness on this earth, 

So wan and pale as I behold thee now, — ! 
And yet thine eye is full of tearful mirth ; 

To thy all beauteous face I fondly bow, 
Tho' veiled from me the mysteries of thy birth ; 

Thy singing sisters call again to thee, 

Haste, haste away— but meet me o'er the sea. 

21* 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Passage from Messina to Milo— Marat and Ney— Tides of the Strait 
—Island of Candia— Island of Cerigo— Aspect of Milo— Historic 
Incidents— Greek Pilot— Medicinal Springs— Natural Grottoes- 
Ancient Tombs. 

Weighing anchor from Messina, we passed on 
the opposite side of the strait the small village of 
Reggio, which would have hardly arrested our 
attention, but for its being the last retreat of the 
unfortunate Marat. There is over the whole career 
of this splendid officer a warmth of generosity, a 
depth of enthusiasm and romance, which should 
have secured him from the inhuman and unmerited 
death, which his miserable foes decreed. His last look, 
as he sunk alone, unarmed and unbefriended, beneath 
the mortal aim of his executioners — and the last 
words of his brave companion in arms, the gallant 
Ney, as he kneeled down to die — may perhaps have 
been regarded by some with exultation ; but a man of 
the slightest magnanimity would have turned away 
with indignant shame and regret. The errors of 
such men meet with an adequate retribution, when 
the reverses of the field divest them of their splen- 
dor and power ; and let us not insult their misfor- 



TIDES OF THE STRAIT. 247 

tunes and human nature by sending them to the 
hands of the common executioner, or chaining them, 
like their captive chief, to a desolate rock in the ocean. 

Bat I have wandered unintentionally to St. 
Helena, and must come back to take a parting look at 
the strait. A current sets here alternately north and 
south, at the rate of three or four knots an hour. 
It is strictly a tide, influenced by the moon, with a 
strong ebb and flow, though the rise and fall are not 
great. When the current sets in from the north, it 
first encounters the point of Pelorus, which still per- 
petuates the name of Hannibal's pilot; it is here 
headed off, and sets towards Scylla, where it is again 
deflected in an opposite direction, and drives to- 
wards the isthmus, which protects the harbor of 
Messina. On its return, it pursues essentially the 
same track, but rarely in either direction seriously 
annoys a ship, unless there be a calm, a strong head- 
wind, or one of those .traversing gusts which fre- 
quently issue from the gorges of the mountains. 
But, like the renowned Argonauts, we have escaped 
the disasters of the pass ; so adieu to its counter cur- 
rents, whirlpools, and rocks. They have ever had 
more poetry in them than peril. 

Our next sight of land rested on the island of 
Candia. Mount Ida, which claims the proud pre- 
eminence of being the birth-place of Jupiter, stri- 
kingly sustains its pretensions in its own lofty and 
solitary grandeur. It is a place befitting the infancy 



248 ISLE OP CERIGO. 

of one destined to reign over the hopes and fears of 
this poor world. It would seem that the infant 
Thunderer began to exercise his frightful functions, 
even before leaving the place of his nativity ; for Ida 
has all the blight and barrenness which the fiercest 
lightning leaves behind. The presiding divinity 
must also, in some measure, have moulded the cha- 
racter of the inhabitants, for they have ever been 
distinguished for valor and vice, skill and falsehood. 
They exhibited their courage and resolution in their 
resistance to the Romans, and in the memorable 
siege of their principal city, by the Ottoman power 
in the seventeenth century. Their vices aside from 
the passages of Strabo, live in many a lewd tale, and 
their piratical audacity still thrills through the story 
of the mariner. Their skill in archery aided Xeno- 
phon in his celebrated retreat, and assisted Alexan- 
der the Great in his conquests. Their proneness to 
falsehood passed into a proyerb, and even shocked 
the satirical muse of Ovid : 

Non hoc centum quae sustinet urbes 

Q,uamvis sit mendax, Creta negare potest. 

The next island that we made, was Cerigo— the 
the ancient Cithera, and favorite isle of Venus. 
Near its sweet shore, this goddess rose from the 
wave in the full perfection of her soft entrancing 
beauty. Her being, no less than her birth, betray- 
ed her celestial origin. With a form moulded in all 
its developments, to the most rich and exquisite 



ISLE OF MILO. 249 

symmetry — a countenance lighted up with the earn- 
estness of serene and passionate thought — a soul 
breathing through her very frame the warmth and 
kindling fondness of love — with a step that could 
dispense with the earth, and a look that could make 
a heaven ; — it is no wonder that she filled and fasci- 
nated the human heart ; — and that the prince and 
the poet, the warrior and the sage, laid their richest 
offerings upon her shrine. But her worship is now 
passed — her temples are tottering in ruins — her altars 
are forsaken — her fountains unvisited — and even 
this sweet isle, where she once dwelt, has only the 
murmuring wave to mourn over the dream of her 
perished beauty. Some glimpses of her loveliness 
may linger still in the triumphs of the chisel and 
pencil, but her soul of surpassing sweetness and 
power is not there ; and the spell of her charms will 
never return, while the spirit of a holier revelation 
continues to chasten down the voluptuous imagina- 
tion of man. 

Passing Cithera, we held our course for Milo, — 
and soon came to anchor in its well sheltered har- 
bor. The first sentiment that occurred to me, in 
looking at the form and aspect of this island, turned 
to the injustice which has been done to it, in the pur- 
poses which it has been compelled to subserve. It 
appeared as if from some motive of curiosity it had 
merely looked up out of the wave, to see what was 
going on in this strange world — had been caught in 



250 HISTORIC INCIDENTS. 

that situation and detained, as an adventurous tra- 
veler peeping into an Arab encampment, is some- 
times held there in lawless bondage. Yet there is 
no cast of grief or violence upon it ; indeed it seems 
as cheerful as if it never had endured a compulsory 
servitude ; though so far from having escaped the 
ignoble task of contributing to the maintenance of 
man, it has at one time sustained a population of 
twenty thousand upon its own resources. It was 
first made a captive by a Lacedaemonian colony, 
and like a true knight, enabled them, for seven hun- 
dred years previous to the Pelopenesian war, to pre- 
serve their independence. With more gallantry 
than selfish wisdom, it refused in that long struggle 
to aid the designs of the Athenians, who revenged 
this neutrality by visiting it with the heaviest deso- 
lation in their power. This wicked act has been 
sketched by Thucydides, in one of his terse senten- 
ces. — The men it appears who were able to bear 
arms were put to death — the women and children 
carried off into exile. 

In the recent struggle between the Greek and 
Turk, this little isle saved itself from Moslem ven* 
geance by its peaceful demeanor, and better served 
the interests of humanity in thus becoming a partial 
asylum, where the oppressed and despairing might 
recover strength and resolution. It is now what it 
was in earlier times — a sort of resting place for the 
mariner. In weariness and storm, he has only to 



GREEK PILOT. 251 

drop around into this quiet harbor, and then he may 
tune his reed, or traverse his deck, and let the tem- 
pest without rave till it frets itself to rest. 

But our object here was not to shelter ourselves 
from a gale, but to procure the aid of those whose 
knowledge of the intricate passes of this sea might 
perhaps save us from that last disaster which some- 
times befalls a ship. The skill of the pilot here, 
though, is very much confined to occasions when 
there is the least necessity for it. It is to be relied on 
when perils are distinctly visible, — but when storm 
and wave and night mingle in conflict, the Greek 
pilot has no resource but to fall on his knees and 
supplicate the assistance of the blessed Virgin. 
Could that sweet saint send out the light of those 
stars which once lighted her solitary path in Judea, it 
would be eminently wise to invoke her aid. Far 
be it from me, however, to quench the hope and trust 
which even a delusive confidence may awaken. 
Yet in a storm, I would sooner trust to a strong 
cable, or a good offing with a close reef, than to any 
miraculous preservation within the power of the 
compassionate Madonna. But enough of these 
heterodox sentiments. 

Mounting some little stunted ponies, which were 
but a trifle larger than goats, we went in quest of 
some of the natural curiosities of the island. A 
short ride brought us to the tepid springs, which 
rise quite up the harbor near the water's edge. 



252 GROTTO OF MILO. 

These springs are strongly impregnated with sul- 
phur, and are much frequented by those afflicted 
with scrofulous diseases, — maladies which are often 
met with here, and which are ascribed to a noxious 
property in the honey with which the Cyclades 
abound. So there is no sweet without its bitter — 
no rose without its thorn. But nature sometimes, 
as in the present case, furnishes an antidote for the 
ills which she brings. Would that man could do 
the same, but his wrongs strike so deeply, that a 
reparation is frequently not within his power. A 
broken heart can never be revived and restored ; it 
may perchance smile again, but its smiles will be 
like flowers on a sepulchre. 

From the springs we rode to a singular cave near 
the entrance of the harbor. After winding down a 
narrow and difficult passage, we found ourselves in 
a large hall, beautifully vaulted with crystalized sul- 
pher. This mineral in the hands of man, has a 
bad name, and a worse association ; but left to 
nature, she converts it into brilliant gems, with which 
she studs the glowing domes of her caverned palaces. 
Here was one of her halls in which even an Egeria 
might have dwelt, and sighed for nothing earthly, 
unless it were the footsteps of her mortal lover. 
And perhaps it was in other times the abode of 
some sweet romantic being, whose devoted love flew 
the crowd, to cherish in solitude and silence its 
fondness and trust. For there is something in the 



GROTTOES OF MILO. 253 

spirit of this mysterious passion which takes the heart 
away from the empty bustle and prattle of the mul- 
titude. It is this which sanctifies the private hearth^ 
and garlands the domestic altar with flowers that 
can never die. One that looks away from the com- 
panion of his bosom, for solace and delight, has 
mistaken the path to true happiness and virtue. 

But I am again on a theme that has little to do 
with the present fountains and grottoes of Milo. W e 
were struck on riding over the island, with the number 
and variety of its caverns, and with the beautiful re- 
sults of the chemical operations, which are constantly 
going on in these natural laboratories. These sin- 
gular results are produced from rich mineral sub- 
stances, abounding in the hollow hills, dissolved and 
sublimated by the agency of a volcanic flame, which 
appears to live in the heart of the island. Let this isle 
alone; — it needs no forge, retort, blowpipe or galva- 
nic battery, to aid its chemical experiments. To its 
lectures Pliny listened, and thousands since have 
wisely imitated the docility of his example. We ob- 
served in our rambles the constant occurrence of 
excavations, which were once immense reservoirs 
for the reception of rain water, — there being no fresh 
springs in the island, and which, though now neg- 
lected and partially filled by falling fragments, attest 
the former denseness of the population. 

We spent some time among the catacombs, the 
most perfect of which are just being opened, and 
22 



254 ANCIENT TOMBS. 

may be found near the site of the ancient capital. 
These chambers of the dead are cut in the soft rock, 
being eight or ten feet square and as many in 
height, with narrow cells opening around them, in 
which the bodies were deposited. In the cells are 
discovered the jewels and ornaments of the deceased, 
and in the chambers lachrymatory vases, in which 
the bereaved preserved their tears, as sacred to the 
memory of the departed. Among the ornaments a 
massive ring was recently discovered, which was 
purchased here for fifty pounds, and subsequently 
sold for five hundred. The vases are some of them 
of glass, brilliantly colored in the material ; others 
of an argillaceous substance, penciled with a delicate 
and unfading force. They are now searched for and 
sold by the natives to the antiquary, or any one who 
may feel or affect an interest in the arts and habits 
of the ancients. How every thing in this world 
tends to ruin and forgetfulness ! We are not only 
to die — to be placed in the earth — but the violets 
are to be plucked from our graves — these narrow 
mounds perhaps to be leveled down to gratify the 
pride of a village and furnish a promenade for the 
gay — and then as if this were not enough, should 
the place of our burial in after ages become known, 
our ashes may be disturbed and though the tearless 
grief of our friends may save the search after lachry- 
matories — yet otir very dust may be sifted in search 
of a gainful trinket. What has been will be ; for 



DISTURBING THE DEAD. 255 

" there is nothing new under the sun." Then let 
me be spared all mockery of grief — all eulogies writ- 
ten and forgotten by the same individual — let my 
resting place be unknown. 

When ye shall lay me in the shroud, 

And look your last adieu, 
Ye shall not tell it to the crowd, 

Nor to the friendly few : 
And when ye place me on the bier, 

Ye shall not wail a word, 
Nor let your eyes confess a tear, 

Or e'en a sigh be heard ; 

Much less shall there be funeral knell, 

Or roll of muffled drum, 
Or, when ye leave where I must dwell — 

The peal of parting gun. 
Bear me away at dead of night, 

And let your footsteps fall 
As soft and silently, as light 

The moon-beams on the pall — ; 

Till ye shall reach some desertshore, 

Or some secluded glen, 
Where man hath never been before, 

And ye wilJ not again ; 
Inter me there without a stone 

Or mound to mark the spot, — 
A grave to all but ye unknown, 

And then by ye forget. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Town of Milo— Steepness of the Streets— Advice to Distillers— Sta- 
tue of Venus— View from the Town — Greek Wedding — Dress and 
Person of the Bride— Fickleness of Fashions in Dress— Anecdote 
of Franklin. 

We left the ship this morning for the purpose of 
visiting the town of Milo, which is built around the 
conical summit of a mountain, and sufficiently ele- 
vated to look down on Mahomet's coffin, high as it 
floats even in the fanatical dream of a Mussulman. 
This giddy position was chosen as a refuge or pro- 
tection from pirates ; but the corsair has reached 
it — not in search of a Medora, I could almost ex- 
cuse him for that, but in quest of a treasure far less 
lovely, though of deeper fascination to a sordid heart. 
On our ascent we turned aside to the remains of a 
theatre, which has been discovered within a few 
years past. The rubbish and earth with which it 
was covered have been partially removed ; and the 
relic presents an entireness of preservation rarely to 
be met with even where, as in the present case, the 
material has the durability which belongs to marble. 
The theatre, soon after its discovery, was purchased 
by Baron Haller, under whose direction the exca- 



STATUE OP VENUS. 257 

vations were vigorously prosecuted, until a treach- 
erous wave, as he was crossing the h; rbor, termina- 
ted his career, and deprived the world of the fruits 
of his enterprise. The object of his munificent 
curiosity remains ; and the rent cornice and column 
will long be surveyed by the stranger, as the touch- 
ing emblems of his broken hopes and purposes. 

On returning to our path, we passed the spot 
where the celebrated statue — the Venus of Milo 
was discovered. It has since been purchased 
by the French government, and is now exhibited in 
the Louvre, where doubtless many a Parisian belle 
is studying its air and attitude, and endeavoring to 
mould her yielding form after its perfect symmetry. 
But corsets and studied positions will never make a 
Venus. This peerless prototype looked and moved 
just as she came from the soft hand of nature ; and 
those who would approach her, in the power of their 
charms, must listen to an oracle that talks not of 
airs and stays. Were Praxitiles to come from his 
resting place, and a modern beauty to present her- 
self before him, to stand for her statue, in all the nar- 
rowing and disorganizing appendages, which fash- 
ion now sanctions, the astounded artist would drop 
his chisel and hasten fast as possible back to his 
grave ! 

But enough of this censorial criticism on the 
false taste of the ladies. They will, I have no 
doubt, regard my strictures as extremely querulous 
22* 



258 ASCENT TO THE TOWN. 

and impudent: but I can assure them I am one of 
the most modest and peaceable men in the world, 
and little disposed to give offence in that quarter, 
where I may perhaps one day be seeking the happi- 
ness, which heaven has righteously denied to the 
cynanthropy and selfishness of the single state. I 
trust that this confession, if it fail .to secure me their 
favor, will at least, obtain me their forgiving tole- 
rance ; and I will engage not to offend again, 
though nature < pants and dies under the constrict- 
ing tortures of the cord and steel. And now gentle 
one, let us leave this distressing theme, and I will 
resume the story of our ascent to the town of 
Milo. 

We recovered the path, from which we had di- 
verged, by beating our way through several small 
plats of ground, surrouuded with hedges of the aloe, 
whose lance-like thorns, wound a man's flesh as 
much as scandal does his character. Our way now 
lay up in a rambling zig-zag line, rendered neces- 
sary not only by the steepness of the actual ascent, 
but the frequent occurrence of the insurmountable 
bluff and projecting crag. It appeared to me while 
twisting my sight and strength through the exhaust- 
ing tortuosities of this path, that Satan would have 
never found his way from Tartarus to Paradise, on 
a road as crooked and laborious as that which we 
were threading. Here, though, I hope will end all 
supposed parallel between the situation, climbing 



ADVICE TO DISTILLERS. 259 

functions, and errand of his satanic majesty and my- 
self. I was bound to Milo — he was in search of 
Eden ; I went to bless a new-married couple, as 
will presently appear — he to make miserable the 
only wedded pair on earth; I was on — to say the 
worst of it — a fool's errand — his was that of a fiend. 
But to close this contrast, so severe upon Milton's 
hero, without perhaps being honorable to myself, we 
at last reached the town. 

We found all its streets extremely narrow, for the 
want of room to make them wider, and decently 
clean, from their precipitancy ; for the contents of a 
dish-kettle, or wash-bowl, would hardly stop till they 
had reached the harbor ; and as for a stumbling 
drunkard, he would roll down with increasing mo- 
mentum, plump into the wave. 

There are, consequently, no " Temperance Soci- 
eties" here — no annoyances from those who will not 
allow others to drink, because they have ceased to 
drink themselves. I would therefore advise the dis- 
tiller, as he appears to be particularly obnoxious to 
these men who have forsaken their bottles, to come 
and work his worms here, where he will cease to be 
annoyed, not only by those who do not take a drop 
at all, but by those who take a drop too much. For 
instead of having the grounds about his establishment 
disfigured by an unseemly group — one trying to 
knock off another's nose — another blinking and 
sleeping in the sun — another zig-zagging a plain 



260 FORM OF HOUSES. 

path — another casting his sickly smile on the stran- 
ger — another cocking his eye ahead, as if leveling at 
a partridge — and another looking as if about to as- 
sume the functions of a stool-pigeon ; — instead of this, 
the moment a fellow has taken a glass too much and 
attempts his first step, he tumbles, and rolling down- 
ward about two miles comes souse into the bay. 
This cleverly cools him off, quenches all the burn- 
ing rags on his back, and he is ready to mount 
again, fresh as a fish. The distiller, therefore, 
escapes all annoyance from those who do not drink, 
and all disgust from those who do ; and as for that 
being who goes about as a roaring lion, seeking 
whom he may devour, if there be any virtue in 
friendship, any merit in good service, he has nought 
to fear from him. 

The roofs of the houses, we observed, were all 
flat. This may have been from a prudential anxi- 
ety to present the least possible exposure to the 
violent winds which occasionally sweep these 
heights, or to lessen the weight, which only aggra- 
vates the toppling propensities of the dwelling; — or 
from motives of economy, which I no not assuredly 
know, as I never made the inquiry ; but whatever 
may have been the inducement, they afford a good 
protection from all inclemencies of weather, and'the 
only promenade of which this cloud-capped town can 
boast. 

Under the guidance of an intelligent native, who 



VIEW FROM THE TOWN. 261 

had been engaged as a pilot for our ship, we con- 
tinued our climbing, till we reached the roof of 
the church, which rightly crowns the summit. 
The wide panorama of wave and isle and mount, 
which now spread around us, would have rewarded 
much greater fatigues than we had undergone in 
the ascent. Milo itself, with the soft oval sweep of 
its shores, the picturesque prominency of its hills, 
the green depth of its valleys, and above all, the 
slumbering beauty of the harbor, as it lay with the 
repose and brilliancy of an inland lake, was enough 
to chain the eye, and fill the heart. But the charms 
of the prospect rested not here, — a multitude of isles 
like this lay within the circling range of our vision, 
bright as the waves in which their shadows were 
enshrined, and soft as the skies that covered them. 
They seemed as if formed for the most fond, frater- 
nal alliance, yet capable each one in an hour of 
ingratitude or indignity, of leaning upon its own 
resources. I like this self-relying aspect, both in 
nature and man; it imparts dignity, respect, and 
confidence, without detracting in the slightest degree 
from the obligations and advantages of friendship. 
In this selfish and treacherous world, a person should 
never place his happiness at the mercy of another; 
betrayal and ruin are too apt to be the conse- 
quence. This remark, though, must not be extended 
to that sacred alliance on which the marriage seal 
has been set, for the greater the confidence here, 



262 GREEK WEDDING. 

the less liable perhaps is it to abuse ; and not only 
so, but without this unreserved confidence, love's 
lamp would burn dim, even before the first night 
had waned on its middle watch. 

Since I have touched on this delicate theme, my 
narrative may as well descend at once under its 
light, from the roof of the church to the new-married 
couple, whose first day of a happy date hundreds 
had now come to witness and to bless. To this fes- 
tival we had been invited, and though unable to dis- 
course in modern Greek, yet we determined to see 
with what peculiarities Hymen might still hold his 
court in this ancient Melos. We found the assem- 
bly about a third of the way down the declivity, on 
a small green, sustained by a bold range of rock, 
which served it as a natural parapet. The aged 
were seated under the fruit trees, eating sweetmeats 
and drinking sherbet; the children were in scat- 
tered groups wildly at play ; the youth of both 
sexes were more in the centre, dancing the Romai- 
ka. In performing the evolutions of this oriental 
dance, the parties begin with a slow and solemn 
movement, and gradually accelerate the action as 
the music becomes more lively. The conductress of 
the figures, who on this occasion was the bride, led 
the company by easy and natural gradations to the 
most rapid evolutions, involving them constantly in 
a maze of intricacies, through which they followed 
her , without once breaking the chain, or losing th e 



DRESS OF THE BRIDE. 263 

measure. The music consisted simply of the Bala- 
ika, which accorded with the rural and romantic 
aspect of the scene. Something like this, blended 
perhaps with still stronger fascinations of personal 
beauty, drew from the author of Evenings in Greece 
the passionate and sprightly strain, commencing 
with the lines : — 

"When the Balaika is heard o'er the sea, 
I'll dance the Romaika by moonlight with thee, 
If waves then advancing, should steal o'er our track, 
Thy white feet in dancing, shall chase them all back." 

The dress and appearance of the bride were pecu- 
liarly native and striking. She was crowned with 
a wreath of white flowers, which contrasted beauti- 
fully with the jet black locks of her hair floating be- 
hind in glossy ringlets ; her dress was of white satin, 
with short sleeves, and cut low in the neck ; — over 
this appeared a stomacher of scarlet, richly embroi- 
dered, encircling and sustaining the round bust; 
her dress with its deep and well adjusted folds de- 
scended only a little below the knee, where it was 
more than met by a white silk stocking, that betray- 
ed a small round ancle, and an instep that seemed 
bounding from the light shoe. Her necklace was of 
pearl ; her ear ornaments and bracelets of cameo, de- 
licately wrought and set in gold. She appeared to 
be about sixteen years of age — with a round cheek 
of deep carnation — a countenance of brunette com- 
plexion — eyes black, shaded with thick silken lashes, 
and of sparkling brightness — an upright forehead, 



264 BRIDEGROOM. 

though not high — a neck of smooth and graceful 
curve — a stature rather low — a form not slight but 
symmetrical — and a hand on whose tapering fingers 
glittered the tokens of love and friendship. 

She had the air of one, who has just passed that 
period of life where the lightness and gaiety of the 
heart give place to sympathies of deeper tone, and 
feelings of stronger power. Her manner, costume, 
and person alike riveted our attention, and though 
she could not be said to reach the perfection of grace 
and beauty, yet I was not surprised, on being told 
that the commander of a squadron in this sea, had 
recently employed a limner expressly to sketch her 
picture. But to be rightly appreciated, she would 
require more than lies in the power of the artist. 
There was something in the flowing of the full soul, 
as it lighted and filled her countenance, which no 
pencil could express. 

The bridegroom was a good looking Greek, of 
twenty-three or four — slightly below the medium 
stature — with a compact muscular frame, and coun- 
tenance that needed not the aid of the mustaches, 
that curled from the upper lip, to give it expression. 
His dress was the flowing Turkish trowsers of 
white, confined suddenly and closely about the an- 
cle — and a coat of blue, in the form of the spencer, 
deeply embroidered in front. His manner was manly, 
frank and affable; — on being presented to him, he 
immediately introduced us to his fair bride, and in- 



GREEK COSTUME. 265 

vitedus into his well furnished house, which opened 
on the small green. We were here served with 
fruit, cake, sherbet, coffee, and the cordiality of the 
pipe. 

Our conversation was carried on through an in- 
terpreter, which left the ladies, who composed a 
majority of the circle, quite at leisure to ponder the 
dress of Mrs. R., which they evidently thought very 
singular — wondering no doubt why it descended so 
low — why her head was protected by a bonnet in- 
stead of a veil — and how it was possible for her form 
to possess its symmetry, without the visible aid of 
the stomacher. But they were not more surprised 
at a novelty of costume than we were ; I must say 
though, had the bride been mine I should have 
anticipated with no pleasure, in any country or com- 
munity, the necessity of an essential change in the 
style of her dress, bating the shortness of the petticoat. 
This dress in its outline, is what it was two thousand 
years ago, and what it will probably be two thou- 
sand years hence. What a contrast to the whimsi- 
cal fickleness of taste in my own country ! Our 
garments instead of being comely on some future 
generation, the caprices of fashion render ridiculous 
even on our own backs; indeed, fashions change 
with such an electrical rapidity with us, that if the 
boy who brings a dress from the milliner's be slow 
on the leg, it will have to be sent back to be con- 
formed to some new freak of fancy, or some more 

23 



266 ANECDOTE OP FRANKLIN. 

newly discovered model. Oar taste in dress, so far 
from aiding a permanent nationality of character, 
is a mere bubble, 

" Which a breath can break as a breath hath made." 

It is a servile imitation of the fooleries and fopperies 
of some foreign metropolis; and worse than this, it 
is sometimes a serious submission to a quiz, played 
off for the merriment of others upon our aping 
vanity. I have often admired the good-humored 
reply of Franklin to his daughter, on her request to 
be gratified with an article of fashionable inutility. 
While that philosopher was embassador to the court 
of France, his daughter wrote him that ostrich 
feathers were all the go in the head-dress of the 
ladies, and requested him to send her out some of 
the first quality. The honest republican replied — 
"Catch the old rooster, my dear child, and take 
some of the longest feathers from his tail, they will 
answer, my word for it, every purpose." Were a 
parent now-a-days to tell his daughter so, she would 
probably fly into a nunnery, or die of grief. But I 
ask pardon of the ladies — I promised not again to 
offend — and I can say in conciliation, that they are 
not much more extravagant and frivolous in their 
taste than the men. And we have this disadvantage 
also, that we lie under the just imputation of imitating 
their worst vagaries. A close observer of the variations 
occurring in the style and shape of our apparel, cannot 



THE BRIDE. 267 

but remark, that we look to the ladies as truly as the 
sea in its ebb and flow looks to the moon. But I 
must hasten on, for at this rate my story will never 
get away from Milo, — it will die here, like a pilgrim 
that has never reached the shrine of his saint. 

But I forget the young bride — and should I thus 
forget thee ? — thou who didst give us flowers as we 
parted ? 

As soft as falls the silken shade, 

Let every sorrow be. 
That grief, or care, or hope delayed, 

May ever cast on thee. 

And let each joy be pure and bright, 

As dew on infant flowers — 
A tender theme of new delight 

To cheer thy lonely hours. 

And gently glide thine hours away, 

As music from the string 
Of woodland lyre, whde o'er it stray 

The wandering sweets of spring. 

And as a sweet melodious lay 

Dies on the still of even, 
So let thy being melt away, 

And mingle into heaven. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

Passage from Milo to Smyrna— Cape Colonna— Temple of Minerva 
— Profession of Pirates — Island of Ipsara— Aspect of Scio— Mas- 
sacre of the Inhabitants — Conduct of the Allies— Gulf of Smyrna 
— Ancient Clazomenae— Traits of the Sailor. 

Taking two intelligent pilots on board, so that 
they might relieve each other in alternate watches, 
we weighed anchor, and clearing the narrow en- 
trance of the harbor, were once more running 
before the breeze. The next morning brought us 
close to Cape Colonna, on the southern extremity of 
Attica — a bold promontory — crowned with the 
magnificent remains of the temple of Minerva. We 
solicited Capt. Read to lie to, till we could visit these 
ruins. A boat was immediately lowered, and we 
were soon on shore — up the steep — and among the 
remains. 

We found twelve columns of the purest penteli- 
can marble, with their entablatures still standing. 
Others lying around, mingled with the massive frag- 
ments of the cell. The stateliness and Doric sim- 
plicity of these columns, with the extent of the foun- 
dations on which the edifice reposed, afforded a 
noble conception of its original beauty and grandeur. 



GREECE AND BYRON. 269 

It required but little effort of imagination, with what 
was before us, to fill the broken outline, rear the 
prostrate pillars, extend the architrave, and per- 
ceive in the completion of the whole, a temple wor- 
thy of the best days of Greece ; and deserving even 
the high encomium which Pericles is said to have 
passed upon it. From the decisions of this artist 
there has never yet been found a just ground of 
appeal. His genius was an oracle to which nations 
listened, and we are even now disinhuming cities to 
recover the sacred sanctions of his taste and judg- 
ment. In architecture, sculpture and poetry, the 
world has lost its richest specimens, and has not the 
power to restore them ; nor will this power ever be 
realized, unless it shall awake in the regenerated 
Greek. But for the present let this subject rest. 

On one of the pilasters still standing, among a 
multitude of names unknown to song, I discovered 
one that was a brilliant exception, and well worthy 
of its place, — it was the name of the author of 
Childe Harold, engraven here under his own eye, 
in his pilgrimage to this relic. If any one could 
without profanation presume in this form upon 
the sacred remains of ancient art, it was this wan- 
dering, weeping, and admiring minstrel. He not 
only entertained himself a profound veneration for 
these remains, but he inspired millions with the 
same sentiment. Each mouldering fane, deserted 
shrine and tottering column have found a tongue in 

23* 



270 CAPE COLONNA. 

the pathetic and eloquent spirit of his numbers. 
He kneeled amid the relics of a ruined race, and in 
the eloquence of his admiration and sorrow touched 
an electrical chain of sympathy that has kindled 
and vibrated in all lands. He finally set the last 
and decisive seal of the martyr to the sincerity 
of his reverence and grief. His name is now em- 
balmed among ruins, on which his genius has cast 
the splendors of a fresh immortality. 

Lingering around the relic, which now seems to 
sanctify Colonna, I found myself invaded by one 
deep and melancholy sentiment — a sentiment of 
utter desolation. I was standing where thousands 
once thronged to pay their festive devotions, where 
the ancient Sunium embraced its happy multitudes, 
where the eloquent Plato, with his serene philoso- 
phy, soared like an angel with his golden lyre to 
heaven. Now not a human being to be seen, not a 
solitary voice to be heard, and not even a sound 
stirring to relieve the unbroken silence of the place, 
except the hollow moan of the wave, as it died on 
the desolate shore. I could have sat down there 
and wept over the dark destiny of man ; for if a peo- 
ple so inventive in monuments, to perpetuate their 
power and splendor, become a blank, how soon will 
those spots, now the seats of refinement, opulence 
and gaiety, be changed to empty sepulchres ! and the 
ruin will never stop, nor will it ever be repaired. 
Babylon is still a desert, and Palmyra known only 



SHIPWRECK OF FALCONER. 271 

to the wandering Arab. Other continents may 
perhaps be discovered, and other islands emerge from 
the ocean, but over all that now smiles in the light 
of the sun, the dark tide of ruin and death moves on 
with a slow but inevitable tread. 

The only solace in our doom is the assurance 
that nature in her salient and self-restoring power 
may remain — that the same sun which gilds our 
palaces will gild our graves — that the same sky 
which pavilions our pomp and pride, will canopy 
our dust. But this cannot benefit us, or serve to 
cheer the pilgrim, who may ages hence wander to 
our tombs. What know the dead who were sepul- 
chred here of the surviving light and influences of 
nature? It is of no moment to them that the suc- 
cession of morn and eve, the budding spring and 
mellow autumn are still repeated. And the stranger 
who pauses here, only feels a deeper sadness at see- 
ing the wave still sparkle on its strand, and the 
light with its purple and gold still fringing the 
cliff while all else only bespeaks decay and ruin. 

A signal-gun from the ship, for our return, 
aroused me from the reverie in which my thoughts 
had been thus gloomily wandering. On reaching 
our boat we passed over the memorable spot where 
Falconer was wrecked — a catastrophe which he has 
converted into 'strains of the most poetic and touch- 
ing character. This hymning mariner found the 
elements of his poetry, his home, and his grave in 



272 CORSAIRS AND DESPOTS. 

the ocean. The ship in which he finally left his 
native shore for the East Indies never reached her 
port. She was arrested on her way — how long she 
struggled with the tempest, and with what feelings 
they whom she bore met their doom, are secrets 
which will never be revealed by the incommunica- 
ble sea. Could the harp of the poet have floated 
away with the sad story of his death, thousands 
would now be listening, weeping, and clinging with 
increased fondness to their hearths. There is over 
the fate of those, who go to sea, and are never heard 
from again, a tragical uncertainty and horror, which 
must fill the most apathetic heart with emotion. 

Having mounted the ship's side again, orders 
were immediately given to fill away, and we were 
soon moving up through the Doro passage, which 
lies between Negropont and Andros. This chan- 
nel, being the one generally preferred by merchant- 
men bound to Smyrna, became a favorite haunt 
for pirates — a class of men who took upon them- 
selves the responsibility of collecting a sort of water 
tax, for which they have been much scandalized in 
this censorious world. But really, I do not after all 
see any thing so remarkably degrading in their pro- 
fession. They levy a contribution and exact it at 
the peril of their lives — kings do the same, but with 
vastly less hazard to themselves — for their majes- 
ties, in case of resistance to their exactions, have 
only to sit in their palaces, and issue an order to 



ISLAND OF ANDROS. 273 

some inferior agent for their immediate enforcement 
— while the corsair has to enforce his demands him- 
self—and is frequently battling it breast to breast, 
at a desperate odds. If taken himself, instead of 
taking the gold of his opponent, he will scorn to 
crave a life as a suppliant, which he has forfeited as 
a pirate, — whereas a king, the moment he becomes 
a captive, compounds for his personal safety, by trea- 
sonably betraying his subjects, and forfeiting his 
realm. I think the advantages of dignity, courage, 
and self-respact, decidedly on the side of those who 
levy contributions oq the water, upon the force of 
their own steel and valor. 

Leaving Negropont on the left — a fruitful island 
abounding in the grape, olive, orange, citron and 
pomegranite, and the largest in the Egean, with the 
exception of Crete — we doubled the northern cape 
of Andros, which is much less in its dimensions than 
its Ne^ropontan neighbor, but equally fertile in its 
soil, and delicious in its fruits. The ancients owed 
this island an unaccountable spite, and christened 
two of its tutelary divinities Poverty and Despair; 
when according to their own confessions it had not 
only a beautiful temple dedicated to the jolly Bac- 
chus, but a fountain near it, whose waters on the Ides 
of January tasted so very like wine, that the most 
exquisite connoisseur could not tell the difference. 

Passing on, Ipsara soon appeared on our larboard 
bow— a small island of wild ragged peaks and rock- 



274 ISLAND OP IFSARA. 

bound shore. Its inhabitants, in their recent strug- 
gle for independence, exhibited a heroism that would 
not have disparaged the days of Leonidas. After 
contending with their swarming foes, till every ray 
of hope was extinguished, they blew up their forti- 
fications — whelming themselves and thousands of 
their enemies in instant death. Those who were not 
within the works — to escape the vengeance or lust 
of the Mussulman — threw themselves into the sea. 
The mother was seen on every cliiT, clasping her 
infant to her breast, and plunging into the wave, 
with her shrieking daughters at her side. Youth 
and beauty, maternal tenderness and infant sweet- 
ness, were seen for days floating around this isle on 
their watery bier ; — a sight which might have moved 
the very rocks with indignation and pity, but which 
the Turk looked upon with triumph and pride. The 
island is now a blackened ruin — thus let it remain, 
as a frightful and becoming monument of the deso- 
lating spirit of Islamism. 

Close on our starboard beam lay Scio, once a 
flourishing and populous island, now another naked 
and ghastly memorial of Moslem vengeance. At 
the breaking out of the Revolution, the inhabitants, 
owing to their removal from the great scene of ac- 
tion, to the complicated character of their com- 
merce, and being naturally of a quiet disposition, de- 
clined involving themselves in the confederation. 
They were in the enjoyment of privileges, to which 



ISLAND OF SCIO. 275 

the other islanders were strangers, and they very 
naturally felt a reluctance in putting these blessings, 
small as they were, upon the hazard of a die that 
might consign them to utter ruin, without perhaps 
benefiting their brethren. 

A suspicion at length, on the part of the Aga or 
military Governor, of a disposition in them to favor 
the spirit of revolt that was abroad, put an end to 
these privileges, and a system of the most oppressive 
violence was adopted. To these atrocious mea- 
sures, however, they unresistingly submitted, till 
their wrongs, increasing with their forbearance, at- 
tained an aggravation and malignity that became at 
last insupportable. Their elders and opulent citi- 
zens were cast into prison as hostages — their fields 
and dwellings plundered by mercenary soldiers, and 
the sanctity of virtue wantonly outraged. Still they 
hesitated in adopting the desperate alternative of 
open resistance, and hung in torturing suspense 
till roused by the reckless zeal of a few wandering 
Samians. 

They were without an organized plan of opera- 
tion, — without the advantages of discipline, or the 
implements of war, but arming themselves with 
such weapons as their forest furnished, they rose on 
their oppressors. Fortune for a time, under all 
these disadvantages, seemed to favor their perilous 
determination ; but the alarm having been given to 
the Admiral of the Turkish fleet, who was supposed 



276 ISLAND OF SCIO. 

at the time to be at a much greater distance, he im- 
mediately anchored in the bay, with a force of forty 
sail, and opened all their batteries on the devoted 
town. The scene that followed has no parallel in 
the history of modern warfare. It was not the sup- 
pression of a rebellion, but the total extermination of 
a people, who had ever been characterised for their 
amiable and forgiving dispositions. The town was 
taken, sacked, and demolished — the priests and 
elders, who had been cast into prison as hostages ? 
were brought out and impaled alive — and the inha- 
bitants of every age and condition, without regard to 
sex, were hunted down in every retreat, and massa- 
cred in cold blood — till at last, the whole island, so 
recently teeming with life and beauty, became a Gol- 
gotha of groans and blood. If there be a God in 
heaven, such crimes as these will not go unpunish- 
ed ! The retribution may linger, but it will come 
in the end like lightning from the cloud. 

Let the man who can reproach the retaliating 
spirit of the Greek, or the conduct of the Allies at 
Navarino, visit this island. Let him plant his foot 
where the flourishing town of Scio once stood — and 
gaze on a mangled mass of ruins — let him stand 
where the Attic college rose, with its library of thirty 
thousand volumes, and its assemblage of seven hun- 
dred youth receiving the elements of a classic edu- 
cation, and be presented only with ashes — let him 
grope through the choked up streets and call for the 



RUINS OP SCIO. 277 

once thronging and happy population, and hear not 
a voice in reply — let him wander through the fields 
where innumerable vineyards once showered their 
purple store, and meet with only the bramble and 
the lizard — and then let him inquire why an island so 
populous and fruitful as this, has become a waste 
and a tomb? Let him ask what crime has been 
committed to draw down this desolating curse ? — 
And let the dead answer. — Because we offered resis- 
tance to wrongs and outrages from which the grave 
is a welcome refuge ! God of my fathers ! there 
was a time when enormities like these would have 
roused up a spirit, before which the guilty perpetra- 
tor would have sunk in shame and despair ! But 
we coolly sit and canvass the policy of a measure 
that would prevent a repetition of these brutalities. 
In the name of humanity, what is religion worth, un- 
less it lead us to defend the innocent, and succor the 
helpless ? Let us cast off the name of Christianity, 
unless we can perform some of its most obvious and 
imperative duties. If we cannot show ourselves 
worthy of our calling, let us cast aside the mask, 
and stand confessed, for what we really are. Let us 
cease to hug a profession which serves only to be- 
tray others, and must in the end expose us to the 
deepest humiliation and reproach. 

I ought not, perhaps, to linger here, yet I cannot 
but ponder as I pass along, and give vent to feel- 
ings excited by objects so full of interest. I cannot 

24 



278 GULP OP SMYRNA. 

restrain the torrent of my soul, when passing a spot 
that has been thus steeped with the blood of the great 
and the brave. I wish the sighs, agonies, and des- 
pairing shrieks, of which this island was the scene, 
might float on every breeze through the earth, to 
sickefi men's hearts with the hateful deformities of 
war. Could the sufferings and sorrows of which 
the field of battle has been the source, be gathered 
up, and speak in their collected wretchedness, the 
horrors of a thousand earthquakes would be forgot- 
ten, amidst the lamentations and wailings that would 
then sweep through the habitations of mankind. 
God formed man upright, and placed him in a 
world of beauty and happiness ; but he has profaned 
his high nature, and changed his dwelling into a 
charnel-house. 

But to resume the path of our ship. Leaving 
Metel in on our larboard quarter, we doubled Cape 
Karabornu, and entered the gulf of Smyrna. This 
arm of the sea strikes up some fifty miles into the 
main land, and is invaded at several points by an 
abrupt termination of some mountain range, shoul- 
dering its way boldly forward with its stupendous 
steeps of forest and rock. At other points, a cir- 
cular sweep of small islands, rising near the shore 
and bending into the gulf, subserve the purposes of 
the mole, and give an air of varied beauty to the 
whole. On one of these islands, the first in a small 
chain that swell to the right as we pass up, stood 



ANCIENT CJLAZOMENiE. 279 

the ancient Clazomenae. In its day it had the 
aspect of a neat floating city — the dwellings rising 
over the oval curve of its form, with light and beau- 
tiful effect. The pier connecting it at a distance of 
one fourth of a mile with the main, constructed by 
Alexander, is still standing, and though dilapidated, 
is sufficiently entire to subserve still the purposes of 
its original construction. 

> The Clazomenians, however, were in course of 
time forced to relinquish their isle of palaces, to 
escape from the annoying visits of the pirates of 
Tino. This was very wrong in the Tinoan cor- 
sair ; his familiarity any where is a great liberty, 
and he should not extend his freedom to the land. 
It was a breach of good breeding which can never 
be excused, especially as his obtrusiveness was 
ultimately the means of leaving to this island only 
the Mosaic pavements, which are still the wonder of 
the traveler. 

Passing Clazomenae, which now in its desolate 
beauty, bears the name of him who once dwelt in 
Patmos ; — passing near by the small town of Vourla, 
standing on its two hills, from which the Turks 
and Franks look at each other, with feelings and 
habits that will amalgamate when their hills rush 
together ; — passing the excellent and convenient foun- 
tain where our ships replenish their exhausted tanks, 
breathing a blessing as they depart to that article in 
the Mussulman's faith which inculcates these hospi- 
table provisions for the wayfaring and weary; — 



280 TRAITS OF THIS SAILOR. 

passing the neglected fortress which was posted here 
to command the pass, with its guns of ostentatious 
calibre, and huge marble balls piled around the low 
embrasure, but which with all its threatening malig- 
nity, like our unfortunate Ticonderoga, may be over- 
awed and silenced from a neighboring height ; — 
passing the invading shoals, which the Herirms, in 
strange forgetfulness of its classic purity, is deposit- 
ing, and which, if the sad prophecies of many shrewd 
observers prove true, will one day stagnate the 
gulf; — passing many woody steeps, where the hunts- 
men are still wont to chase the wild boar and goat, 
and a succession of valleys, with their groves of the 
olive, the fig, the almond, the pomegranate, with 
the trailing grape, — we came at last in front of 
Smyrna, crowning the head-water, and giving that 
sort of plump satisfaction, which one feels in know- 
ing that he has arrived indisputably at the end of 
his journey. 

Yet strange as it may seem, one week will not 
have elapsed, before the crew of this ship will begin 
to manifest some of their roving impulses. 

A sailor ever loves to be in motion, 

Roaming about, he scarce knows where or why j 

He looks upon the dim and shadowy ocean 
As his home, abhors the land ; even the sky, 

Boundless and beautiful, has naught to please, 

Except some clouds, which promise him a breeze. 

He makes a friend where'er he meets a shore, 
One whom he cherishes with some affection ; 

But leaving port, he thinks of her no more, 
Unless it be in some severe reflection 

Upon his wicked ways — then with a sigh 

Resolves on reformationere he die. 



TRAITS OP THE SAILOR. 281 

He is a child of mere impulse and passion, 
Loving his friends, and generous to his foes, 

And fickle as the most ephemeral fashion, 
Save in the cut and color of his clothes, 

And in a set of phrases, which on land 

The wisest head could never understand. 

He thinks his dialect the very best 

That ever sailed from any human lip, 
And whether in his prayers, or at a jest, 

Employs the terms for managing a ship — 
And even in death would up the helm, 
In hope to clear the breaker-beaten realm. 

An order given, and he obeys of course, 
Tho' 'twere to run his ship upon the rocks — 

Capture a squadron with a boat's crew force — 
Or batter down the massive blocks 

Of some huge fortress with a swivel, pike, 

Pistol, aught that will throw a ball, or strike. 

He never shrinks, whatever may betide ; 

His weapon may be shivered in his hand, 
His last companion shot down at his side, 

Still he maintains his firm and desperate stand — 
Bleeding and battling — with his colors fast 
As nailcan bind them to his shattered mast. 

Such men fall not unmourned — their winding-sheet 

May be the ocean's deep unresting wave; 
Yet o'er this grave will wandering winds repeat 

The dirge of millions for the fallen brave; 
While each high deed survives in holier trust ' 
Than those consigned to mound or marble bust. 

I love the sailor — his eventful life — 

His generous spirit — his contempt of danger — 

His firmness in the gale, the wreck and strife ; 
And tho' a wild and reckless ocean-ranger, 

God grant he make that port, when life is o'er, 

Where storms are hushed, and billows break no more. 

24* 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Smyrna—Its Seamen— It Motley Population— The Tartar-Janisa- 
ry — Modem Warfare — Encounters in threading ihe Streets — 
Fruit Market— Bazars— Greek Girls— Turkish Burial-ground— 
The Child unacquainted with Death. 

Our ship was now riding quietly at anchor, be- 
fore Smyrna ; and I was casting about to catch 
a few of the singular sights and incidents of flood 
and field. The quay was lined with vessels bear- 
ing the flags of different nations — clearly indicating 
the commercial importance of the place. It gave me 
feelings of peculiar pleasure, to see here in this 
"distant orient," the stars of my own country float- 
ing independently among crowns and crescents. A 
considerable portion of the craft were the Levantine 
feluccas — confining the utmost range of their nau- 
tical daring to the shores of the Mediterranean — 
seldom venturing out sight of land — and thus by 
this strand-keeping anxiety, encountering a thou- 
sand perils from which the open sea is exempt. The 
Levantine sailor is as constant and stationary in his 
habits as are the rocks on which he is so frequently 
wrecked. He constructs his vessel after the same 
model which was observed centuries ago, and navi- 



MARINO OP SMYRNA. 283 

gates her as anxiously from island to island, or close 
along the coast, as did the Argonauts their crowded 
ship in search of Colchos. His craft with its wedge- 
like stem, aud triangular stern, has upon it every 
evidence of rudeness and haste — it is just such a 
thing as mariners, cast upon some forlorn coast, 
would drive together. Yet this ill-shapen vvaddler 
is made to float in the dream of the classic poet, 
gracefully as the motion of a swan on the breast of 
a lake. How poetic illusion vanishes, when the 
reality comes up ! 

Among nearer objects onshore — the Marino first 
attracts the eye. It is bordered by a range of Consu- 
lar residences, and is constantly trod by a bustling 
crowd, with every variety of dialect and costume 
that have obtained since Babel was confounded, and 
Joseph's coat of many colors stitched together. 
Smyrna is said to contain a more numerous and 
vivid representation of national character arid pecu- 
liarities, than any other city in the world — and I 
believe it ; for I have never read or dreamed of any 
communities, except those in the moon, that are not 
appropriately represented here. This motley crowd 
have also no tendency whatever to amalgamation 
— they are as distinct in feature, language, and hab- 
its of life, as if they had been but yesterday, by some 
tremendous convulsion in nature, thrown together 
from the four quarters of the globe. I have stood 
by the hour together, displaying my want of good 



284 TURK AND GREEK. 

breeding, in laughing at the ringed, streaked and 
speckled throng as they went by — each uttering a 
distinct language — and making in the whole a cho- 
rus, embracing every sound, from the whispering of 
the reed in the wind, to the crack in the thunder- 
cloud. 

In appearance and movement the Turk is the 

most majestic and imposing. His frame is portly 
and muscular, indicating in every look and motion, 
a life of ease and unconcern. His green turban 
rolls in rich pomp about his head ; his blue embroi- 
dered spenser descends into a broad red sash, which 
encircles his waist — supporting at the same time his 
mounted pistols and jeweled yataghan ; his white 
trowsers flow full and free to the gathering ancle, 
where the green slipper receives the foot and termin- 
ates the variety. He moves on with a slow, dignified 
step, allowing to no object even the compliment of 
an oblique glance — with a countenance of impertur- 
bable gravity, betraying in its composure that self- 
complacent confidence, which leads you to suppose 
that he is confident of going, whatever may betide, 
to the seventh heaven of the Prophet. Near him 
strides the Armenian with his large brown calpec, 
snuff-colored gown, and red boot, meditating on some 
new banking scheme, or whispering to himself some 
unfamiliar terms, which he may have occasion to use 
in the office as dragoman. Then follows the Jew 
in his careless, promiscuous attire, without weapons, 



TARTAR-JANISARY. 285 

but ready to purchase out all Smyrna for 3^011, at a 
trifling advance beyond the original cost. Then 
darts past the Greek in his red cap, round jacket, and 
ample kilts, twisting his mustaches, or replenishing 
his pipe, and snapping his eyes around, as if some 
sudden peril, or new scheme of cunning had occur- 
red to him. Then dashes past the Tartar-Janisary 
in his stiff capote, with his trusty weapons in their 
place, defiance and fidelity in his eye, and on a steed 
of quick hoof, ieading some party of travelers to 
Sardis, Ephesus, Constantinople, or any where else 
that their curiosity or interest may require. There 
is something about this wild being, that strikes the 
most careless observer; — it is not his equipage so 
much as his bearing, and the fierce, unalterable de- 
cision and energy which flashes from his eye. He 
looks as one whom you could rely upon in an hour of 
peril and conflict— whom you would like to have at 
your side, if way-laid by robbers — and who would 
resolutely deal the deadly blow, though but a frag- 
ment of his blade remained. An army composed 
of such men would make every disputed field and 
pass a Marathon, or Thermopylae ; and I am not 
sure but that the interests of humanity would be con- 
sulted, by such inevitable alternatives. Wars would 
be more bloody, but they would be of less duration, 
and occur with vastly less frequency. 

We have now so much marching and counter- 
marching — so much scouting and skirmishing-— so 



286 MODERN WARFARE. 

much shooting behind the bush, bramble and breast- 
work — so much rallying and running, — the great and 
solemn u note of preparation 71 all the while sounding, 
that our wars are as lon^ and doubtful as the sie^e of 
Troy. In the mean time hundreds are dying — 
some from random shots and sallies — some from 
disease and deprivations incident to camp-life — some 
from having deserted, others from ennui, and not a 
few from potnlency. The difference is, that in 
one case men die at once and in the mass — in the 
other they die singly and by inches; and I leave 
it for amateurs in gun-powder and gold-lace to de- 
termine which involves the greatest expense of trea- 
sure and blood. For my own part, 1 am in favor of 
carrying the art of war to such a degree of perfec- 
tion and despatch, that the fate of a Waterloo or 
Austerlitz may be decided in fifteen minutes, and 
then let the survivors go home and attend to their 
domestic and civil concerns. As for naval engage- 
ments, I have, just now, but very little to say on 
that subject. It is not a pleasant thing to be sunk, 
and it is not a pleasant thing to be captured; but 
whether victory or death is to be the result, let it come 
at once, — no apprehensive maneuvering — no play- 
ing off and on — no wearing and tacking — no nice cal- 
culations of relative force — be the future a repetition 
of the past— lay the ship gallantly to her place — and 
then triumph, or sink, as the tide of battle may turn. 
I did not think, when the Tartar dashed past me ? 



STREETS OP SMYRNA. 287 

that the daring fierceness of his eye would lead me 
into a lecture on military and naval tactics. But 
our thoughts are like the enchanter's birds, flying 
into whatever quarter of the earth or sea, towards 
which the wand is pointed. And really, 1 should 
be willing to have mine wander almost any where, 
to get rid of the narrow and dirty alleys of Smyrna. 

I found myself, in threading some of them, in a pre- 
dicament truly unbecoming a gentleman — who, 
if Shakspeare's definition be good authority, is one 
that u holds lar^e discourse, looking well before and 
after." I had nothing to discourse to, unless it was 
dogs and dirt and dingy dwellings, — except now and 
then, when a form moved past me, wrapped in a 
white sheet and close vision, but coming in such a 

II questionable shape," I could not speak it ; it re- 
quired more nerve than it would to accost a spectre 
in the silence and gloom of a sepulchre. I was told 
that each of these walking phantoms was a Turkish 
female ! " Angels and ministers of grace defend 
us !" If death himself had invented a garb, it could 
not have been more frightful ! How the harem can 
need any protection beyond it, is inconceivable; 
had the arch-deceiver, on his first visit to earth en- 
countered Eve in such a disguise, he would have 
run howling out of Eden. What a world is this in 
which we live! — beautiful in its origin, replete in 
its resources, but darkened and disfigured by the 
jealousies and passions of man. 



288 CAMELS AND PORTERS. 

Another source of trouble in threading the nar- 
row streets of Smyrna, is encountering loaded cam* 
els that come along in strings of one or two hundred 
fastened together, and led by a little jackass, who ap- 
pears not more foolish and sulky than you feel in 
being obliged to squat down upon the first stone, 
to escape a worse fate from the sweeping range of 
their enormous sacks. There is no alternative left 
yon, but either to retreat, or squat ; and if you de- 
termine on the latter, you must sit there till the whole 
interminable file have crept past. You may then 
get up and move on, but before you have got ten 
roods, you will run a narrow chance of being 
knocked down by the poking end of some long 
plank, or beam, borne by a bent porter, whose dis- 
tance from the projecting extremity of his burthen, 
frequently prevents your hearing the dead moan, 
which he gives as the only admonition of his com- 
ing. His untimely warning, though, can be of very 
little service or consolation to you — picking yourself 
up from the filth of the street, after having ruined 
a coat, on which your tailor exerted the highest skill 
of his profession. These porters are usually Turks, 
who pay a liberal bounty for the privilege of their 
occupation. The weight which they carry is in- 
credible — it inclines one to some confidence in the 
correctness of Doctor Nisbom's theory — that the 
muscles of the human system are capable of being 
brought to such a degree of strength and endurance, 



BAZARS OF SMYRNA. 289 

that a man might carry the globe on his back, could 
he only find a platform beneath on which to walk. 

The most bustling and attractive spot in Smyr- 
na is within the bazars, occupying the centre of the 
city. These shops, forming a succession of low and 
convenient arcades, contain all the finery and fop- 
pery of the East ; and are constantly thronged by 
the natives, who appear to find half their pleasures 
and excitements in purchasing trinkets and gew- 
gaws. Among the most interesting of these purchas- 
ers, are the Greek girls, chattering, as you often find 
them, to some old Turk, Armenian, or Jew, over 
the queer beauty of some trifle, and laughing with 
a glee that makes you good natured with all the 
world. Their flashing eyes, and sprightly conver- 
sation, with the fresh gladness which fills each fea- 
ture, affords you more pleasure than you can expe- 
rience among the most refined circles. 

I began to think that I had found nature once 
more, and that, too, where it was least and last to 
be expected. But the grave and demure manner 
of the Turk, seated on his small carpet, around 
which his glittering articles were exposed for 
sale, cooled a little my effervescing enthusiasm. 
He never smiled, he never looked up, nor appeared 
to take the slightest interest either in the fair pur- 
chasers or the bargain. What a stupid block is 
this ! I exclaimed. — There is neither sentiment, civil- 
ity, nor common reason in him ! — Why, I would 

25 



290 TURKISH MERCHANT. 

part with the locks from my temples for the mere 
smiles of such sweet creatures ! But this uncon- 
scionable fellow sits here as untouched and uncon- 
cerned as if he were speculating with grave-stones. 
I must not, however, be too severe on the Turk, as 
he atones in some measure for his want of gallantry 
in never recommending his articles for what they 
are n ot — and never in his change cheating his young 
customers. This is more than can be said generally 
of the Franks ; — they are all smiles and deception, 
politeness and imposition. So the Turk, though 
vastly less attractive and engaging, is the safer man 
to deal with ; yet among the shopping ladies of my 
own country, he would not sell the value of five far- 
things a year ; for he holds no chat, exchanges no 
smiles, no glances, and pays no compliments. He 
coolly presents the articles inquired for, — if you 
purchase, well, — if not, it is a matter of your con- 
cern, not his. Our ladies would undoubtedly call 
occasionally at his shop, but it would be to look at 
his beard, disturb the slumber of his goods, vex his 
indolence, and laugh at his self-complacent tacitur- 
nity. But though over so silent and supercilious, 
there are at least two things in which you may 
trust a Turk all lengths — money and malice — in 
both he will be sure to render you your full due, be 
the consequences what they may to himself. 

The fruit market forms another object of interest 
in Smyrna, It is the true temple of Pomona. 



FRUIT MARKET. 291 

You can scarcely name a product of the garden, 
field, or grove, that is not to be found here, with a 
delicious richness of flavor unknown to other 
climes. The grape, apple, orange, with the fig, 
pomegranate, and melon, seem to melt in the mouth, 
and flood the taste with a gushing richness, which 
lingers there, like the absorbing sensations of the 
infant receiving its nourishment at the earliest and 
purest fountain of life. Even the Turk — the so- 
lemn tranquillity of whose countenance is seldom 
disturbed by an emotion of pleasure — as the ripe 
peach of Sangiac, or the luscious melon of Cassaba, 
flows over the palate, will look up, as if he had 
already gained a portion of his future paradise. 

There is one species of fruit here, than which the 
charm of the serpent is not more fascinating and 
deadly — it is the apricot, with its blushing beauty 
and tempting flavor; but he who eats it jeopards 
his life. It is called here by the natives the 
Kill-Frank, and so it nearly proved to me ; — I be- 
gan to think that I had indeed reached the end 
of my journey — but its tumultuous agonies slowly 
passed off, and I am still living, thank hea- 
ven, to stamp it in all its hypocritical charms 
with my unqualified denunciation. There is no- 
thing so deceptive and fatal, unless it be the mint- 
julip, which some of our giddy young men take 
before breakfast to reinstate their nerves, after the 
potulent excesses of the night previous. They are 



292 BURIAL-GROUND. 

both fit only for those who have suicidal inten- 
tions ; yet if a man has really determined to destroy 
himself, perhaps the julip is the preferable instru- 
ment, for the victim, in his drunken delirium, will 
not be unavailingly visited by 

" The late repentance of that hour, 
When Penitence hath lost her power 
To tear one terror from the grave, 
And will not soothe, and cannot save." 

The Turkish burial-ground forms one of the 
most green and fresh features in the landscape 
around Smyrna. It lies in quiet retirement from the 
noise and empty parade of the town, and seems in its 
own stillness to intimate to man the vanity of those 
objects which so engross his cares, and fever his 
existence. It is densely shaded with the cypress — 
that appropriate and beautiful tree, which appears 
to have been given to guard the tomb, and furnish 
in its unfading verdure a type of our immortality. 
The sepulchral monument is a simple column of 
white marble, surmounted with a tastefully sculp- 
tured turban, and bearing frequently a brief sen- 
tence from the Koran. No titles are recorded — no 
virtues proclaimed — it is what it should be, a touch- 
ing memorial of our own frailty. No one can lin- 
ger here through a still summer's evening — the soft 
wind sighing through the branches of the cypress — 
the moon-light touching the marbles of the dead — 
the wave of the bay dying with a melancholy mur- 
mur on the shore — -without departing the wiser 



BURIAL-GROUND. 293 

and better. Standing here at this hushed hour with 
these memorials, and dying whispers of nature 
around me, the world, with its strife, and pride, and 
noisy pleasures, appeared but as the vanishing away 
of some troubled dream. Would that the years 
which remain might partake of the spirit of this 
scene. Why should life be exhausted in pursuit of 
that which is so soon to convince us that it is only 
shadow ! 

The burial-ground of the Armenian, like that of 
the Moslem, removed a short distance from the 
town, and sprinkled with green trees, is a favorite 
resort not only for the bereaved, but those whose 
feelings are not thus darkly overcast. I met there 
one morning a little girl with a half playful counte- 
nance, busy blue eye, and sunny locks, bearing 
in one hand a small cup of china, and in the other a 
wreath of fresh flowers. Feeling a very natural 
curiosity to know what she could do with these 
bright things in a place that seemed to partake so 
much of sadness, I watched her light motions. 
Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain mar- 
ble slab, she emptied the seed — which it appeared 
the cup contained — into the slight caveties which 
had been scooped out in the corners of the tablet, 
and laid the wreath on its pure face. "And why," 
I inquired, "my sweet girl, do you put the seed in 
those little bowls there V "It is to bring the birds 
here," she replied, with a half wondering look — 

25* 



294 BURIAL-GROUND. 

" they will light on this tree," pointing to the cypress 
above, " when they have eaten the seed, and sing." 
" To whom do they sing?" I asked — " to each other 
— to you ?" " O no," she quickly replied — " to my sis- 
ter — she lies there." " But your sister is dead ?" " O 
yes, sir, but she hears all the birds sing." " Well, if 
she hears the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath 
of flowers?" " But she knows I put it there — I told 
her before they took her away from our house, I 
would come and see her every morning." "You 
must," I continued, "have loved that sister very 
much, but you will never talk with her any more, 
never see her again." "Yes, sir," she replied, with 
a brightened look, " I shall see her always in heaven." 
" But she has gone there already, I hope." " No, 
she stops under this tree, till they bring me here, 
and then we are going to heaven together." " But 
she is gone already, my child — you will meet her 
there, I trust — but certainly she is gone, and left 
you to come afterwards." She looked at me — her 
eyes began to swim — I could have clasped her to 
my heart. 

Come here, my sweet one — be it so, 

That 'neath this cypress tree, 
Thy sister sees those eyes o'erflow, 

And fondly waits for thee, — 

That still she hears the young birds sing, 

And feels the chaplet's bloom — 
Which every morn thy light hands bring, 

To dress her early tomb. 

And when they bring thee where she lies, 

To share her narrow rest- 
Like sister seraphs may ye rise 

To join the bright and blest. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Smyrna continued — Religious Sects — Visit to Governor — His Palace 
— Pipes— Horses— Troops — Coffee-house Scene — Prayers of the 
.Mussuimen — Martyrdom of Polycarp — Birth-place of Homer — 
Parting with the Reader. 

The mosques, synagogues and churches of 
Smyrna are very numerous, but without any archi- 
tectural pretensions. In the first, the Mussulman, 
after having performed his ablutions, lays aside his 
slippers, and bows himself with an air of profound 
veneration towards Mecca. In the second, the Jew 
chants with a deep and solemn tone his Hebraic 
harmonies, and kneels with mournful confidence 
towards Jerusalem. In the last, the Greek crosses 
himself, and looks with penitential solicitude to his 
patron saint, to the blessed Virgin, or to that great 
Spirit, the universality of whose presence none can 
escape. In neither sect is there much tolerance to- 
wards apostates from their faith. The follower of Mo- 
hammed, who deserts his faith, looses his head ;— the 
deluded child of Abraham, who ceases to expect the 
promised Messiah, goes to the bastinado or the dun- 
geon ; — and the unreflecting Greek, who may as- 
sume the turban, or turn away from the altar of the 
Madonna, forfeits the friendship of his relatives, 
and secures the scorn of his foes. A convert from 



296 TRAITS OF THE TURK. 

either sect is looked upon by his brethren as an 
apostate from truth, hope and heaven. He has no 
safety or repose, but in an escape to other lands, 
where the rights of conscience are recognized and 
respected. Yet while this un mingled hatred and 
cruelty are visited upon apostacy, these different sects 
manifest towards each other, in their ccfllective ca- 
pacities, a forbearance and civility that is truly com- 
mendable. Their indignation appears to light sim- 
ply on those who have swerved from their own 
faith. 

The Turk, while he beheads his brother, who 
may have ceased to call on the Prophet, has appa- 
rently no objection that the Jew should still expect 
his deliverer, or that the Greek should still cross 
himself at the shrine of his saint. His tolerance 
flows not so much from that charity which " suffereth 
long, thinketh no evil, and is not easily provoked," 
as from a deep and settled contempt for the short- 
sighted beings who may differ from him in their 
religious creed. He looks upon the Koran as such 
a splendid and well-authenticated revelation, that a 
man who can refuse it his belief, and forego the 
pleasures which it promises, evinces, in his estima- 
tion, a stupidity and dogged obstinacy of character, 
which forfeits him all claim to consideration. He 
would seemingly regard it as a degradation in him 
to make a proselyte of such an incorrigible, misera- 
ble being. Yet in secular affairs, in business, in 
trade 3 the Turk meets you with a civility, frankness 



GOVERNOR OF SMYRNA. 297 

and honesty, which you are disposed to construe 
into a complimentary confidence and respect. But 
this is his nature, — he would be the same were he 
purchasing shells of a Hottentot, or furs of a Sibe- 
rian savage. His respectful demeanor flows from an 
innate pride and dignity of spirit, and not from the 
suggestions of any flattering regard for you. He is 
above a mean trick — though unequaled in that du- 
plicity of character, which Joab revealed in taking 
his friend Amasa by the beard, kissing him, and 
ending the fraternal embrace, by stabbing him under 
the fifth rib. 

The most extensive and sumptuous edifice in 
Smyrna, is the palace of the Musselim, or Governor. 
It is pleasantly situated near the harbor, in the 
southern section of the city, and is surrounded by 
an extensive garden. Our consul, Mr. Ofley, with 
Captain Read, and the officers of the Constellation, 
called on his Excellency in accordance with an ap- 
pointment previously arranged. Passing a mount- 
ed guard in the court, and ascending a broad flight 
of plain stairs, we were ushered into an extensive 
saloon, surrounded by a rich ottoman, in which the 
Governor was seated with his feet drawn under him, 
in the true turco modo. 

He received us with a courtly ease, and gratify- 
ing familiarity of manner ; and immediately on our 
being seated, commenced a scattering series of ques- 
tions, in which he betrayed both ignorance and 



298 GOVERNOR OF SMYRNA. 

shrewdness. His mind ran incessantly from one 
topic to another, like a fox, first confined to the 
grated apertures of his cage. Whatever the an- 
swer might be to any question, it appeared to 
excite little surprise, arid sometimes he would cut it 
off, by putting another so foreign to the last, that the 
contrast would force an involuntary smile. His 
questions were sometimes involved in a little mist, 
but they generally reached their most remote object 
with singular directness and celerity. The mo- 
ment he spoke, his countenance lighted up as if 
some new thought had suddenly flashed on his 
spirit; and then again it would as instantaneously 
subside into its customary good-humored apathy. 
He appeared to be about fifty years of age, and to 
possess a constitution impaired by anxiety and se- 
dentary habits. His dress was a red velvet cap, with 
a rich blue tassal depending from the centre of the 
crown — a loose robe of the glossy angora — with full 
trowsers, and close vest of the same light and ele- 
gant material. His slippers were not seen, his feet 
being drawn up under him on the sofa where he 
sat with a greater ease of attitude than I ever saw 
assumed on chair or tripod. 

We had not been long seated when fifteen or 
twenty handsomely attired attendants eutered with 
hands crossed in front, in token of submission ; and 
each bearing a pipe, which he presented to us, in a 
kneeling posture. The stems of these narcotic aux- 



1>IPES AND COFFEE. 299 

iliaries of Turkish luxury were of the native cherry, 
elegantly slender, and seven or eight feet in length, 
with a bowl of argillaceous substance, and a long 
mouth-piece of pure amber. One end rested on a 
silver plate near the centre of the room, and the 
other, it was expected you would place to your lips 
with delighted suction. He that never smoked be- 
fore with such a pipe as this, would be excused, if 
he began the giddy experiment. The first sen- 
sations of love, with the dilating heart and mysteri- 
ous sympathy, could not be more sweet and inexpli- 
cably delightful, than the soft vapors of this aroma- 
tic plant, winding along through the cool and polish- 
ed tube, and finally flowing through amber, into 
the mouth. Cynics and quacks may prattle as 
much as they please against the pipe, yet no man 
who wishes to be soothed when he is weary, or ex- 
hilerated when he is depressed, will decline the 
Turkish chibouque. While enjoying the pleasures 
of the precious weed, the attendant kneeled before 
each with a few sips of coffee, in an extremely small 
and elegant cup of china, resting in a delicate stand 
of filigreed crold. It was taken without surar or 
cream, and though but a swallow in quantity, it con- 
tained more of the real juice of the Moca-berry, than 
is usually found in our cups of much more promising 
dimensions. Coffee with us is frequently about as 
strongly impregnated with the berry, as the passing 
stream, in which the native plant may happen to 



300 TURK AND HIS STEED. 

cast its shadow. After having our pipes several 
times replaced by fresh ones, and filling the saloon 
with a cloud of floating fragrance — and drinking a 
glass of cool sherbet — and touching on all topics 
within the ranging imagination of the Musselim, — 
we were to depart — when his Excellency informed 
us that his horses had been brought into the green, 
and the troops of the garrison paraded, for our in- 
spection, and he might have added — for the gratifi- 
cation of his own pride. 

We found the horses well worthy of their prince- 
ly master — plump, smooth and playful — full of en- 
ergy and fire, yet submissive to the bit — and pranc- 
ing under their riders, as if motion were a new, 
delightful sensation. Several of them were of the 
Arabian blood, with small muscular limbs — graceful 
and athletic conformation — with a flowing mane, 
free nostril, bright eye and a curved neck, in which 
the very thunder seemed to lurk. The Mussulman 
preserves his steed unmaimed and entire, just as na- 
ture formed him, and bestows upon him the most 
kind and constant attentions; — and not without 
just reason — for a Turk without his horse would 
be almost as deplorably conditioned as a Catholic 
without his beads ; — the one would give up all hope 
of seeing his nearest neighbor, and the other of reach- 
ing heaven. If a man proposes running away with 
a horse at the risk of being hung or decapitated, I 
should advise him to take the Arabian — for in the 



FRESH RECRUITS. 301 

first place, he could not be overtaken except on a 
steed of equally astonishing fleetness ; and in the 
next place, if overtaken and bow-strung, or made to 
swing so very awkwardly from the ground, he will 
have the satisfaction of knowing that he forfeit- 
ed his life in an effort to avail himself of the noblest 
animal on earth. Still I would not, in this world of 
stern law and unforgiving justice, advocate even 
this kind of magnificent plunder, for there is no ro- 
mance in the gallows — no racing or riding in the 
grave. 

I wish I could say as much in favor of the Go- 
vernor's troops as his steeds — for a more unsoldier- 
like body of men I never saw under arms. They 
reminded me of one of our back-woods militia train- 
ings, where no two have coats or corn-stalks alike. 
The apology given for their appearance was, that 
•they had just been driven in from the country. 
The mode of raising recruits here, exhibits the true 
genius of the Ottoman government, — it is to send 
out a force sufficient to reconnoitre all the small vil- 
lages — where the youth, who cannot make their es- 
cape, are seized, tied together, and driven into the en- 
-campment, to fight nolens aut volens. If they show 
a disposition to desert, they are pretty sure to be 
shot, or bastinadoed to death ; — and if they remain, 
their fate may be more slow, but it will come with 
^equal suffering and certainty, in the charge of the ene- 
my, the destructiveness of the plague, or the tyran- 

26 



302 MOUNT PAGUS. 

nical authority, and merciless inconsideratioli of 
their commanders. Let those who would dissolve 
our Union, and render us in our scattered strength 
the prey of foreign avarice and power, look here and 
see what the loss of liberty really is, and take a 
lesson of wholesome admonition. These poor fel- 
lows have been wrenched away from their parents 
and homes, chained together as culprits, driven over 
parching sands to this garrison, and are now, in a 
few days to be marched off, under their arms, with 
a prospect of a mere precarious subsistence, into the 
burning plains of Syria, there to perish in battle, or 
wither away with fatigue and famine. But whether 
the sands of the desert, or the field of blood, be their 
grave, their homes will know them no more ! They 
have left forever behind them all that the earth holds 
dear. The most foolish and frantic disunionist in 
our country who can look at this, and not feel com- 
punctions of shame, and devote himself anew to 
the great cause of united liberty, is unworthy of 
the age in which he lives, and of the country that 
has given him birth. 

But to return to Smyrna. Through the south- 
ern section of the city swells a very high hill, com- 
manding a wide range of land and water, and bear- 
ing the name of Mount Pagus. It is surmounted by 
a Genoese castle, reared on the huge foundations of 
one constructed by Alexander the Great. The cas- 
tle is now unfortified, and has only the frowning as- 



MARTYRDOM OP POLYCARP. 303 

pect of its gigantic proportions to strengthen its 
friends, or intimidate its foes. In our ascent to the 
castle, we passed over the obliterated foundations of 
the amphitheatre, where Polycarp was martyred amid 
thousands who had assembled to wonder at his fa- 
natical fortitude, or jeer his recanting timidity. But 
that great apostle of truth felt too deeply the respon- 
sibility of his situation, to consult the weaker impul- 
ses of his nature. He had heard the warning voice 
of the Son of God, calling to him, through the saint- 
ed exile of Patmos, as the angel of the church of 
Smyrna, to be " faithful unto death f — he stood un- 
tremblingly true to the confidence with which he 
had been divinely honored; and passed from the 
sorrows and agonies of martyrdom, to receive the 
promised " crown of life." His devoted example in- 
spired hundreds with kindred emotions, — it strength- 
ened the weak, decided the doubting, and confirmed 
the wavering ; — it made the church of Smyrna one of 
those firm out-posts of Christianity, which no bribes 
could seduce, and no terrors or trials disarm. She 
stood simple, erect and uncompromising — leaning 
upon an unshaken faith in the promises of her 
Redeemer, and looking forward to the day of her 
deliverance and triumph. That day came, — and 
the humble cause which she had espoused, sweeping 
away the altars and fanes of idolatry, enthroned it- 
self upon the affections and confidence of the civil- 
ized world. 



304 BIRTH-PLACE OF HOMER. 

From the battlements of the castle we could 
trace the Meles, winding through its fertile valley, 
and mingling: its waters with the broad wave of the 
bay. We wandered down to the bank of this clas- 
sic stream, and lingered around the green spot, 
which, it is contended, was the birth-place of Ho- 
mer. The young, beautiful, and unfortunate Cri- 
theis — if story be as true as it is full of scandal — 
fled to this secluded shade to escape the exposure 
and shame of becoming a mother ; — little thinking 
in her solitude and anguish, that the offspring of her 
erring fondness, was to string a lyre, to which the 
whole earth would listen. She sunk to an early 
grave, and left her boy, as most do, who thus err, to 
wander destitute and forsaken. But nature was 
not denied him, — he strayed among her founts and 
flowers, visited her recesses of deeper beauty, listen- 
ed to the tone of her thousand voices, caught the spir- 
it that quickens through her mysterious frame, and 
poured forth his exulting sensations in a tide of im- 
perishable song. Though unknown, except in his 
numbers, he has charmed the world into an immor- 
tal remembrance and affection. The posterity of 
those who left him to famish and die, have contended 
for the honor of his birth, and reared their richest 
monuments to his name. Soon or late the claims 
of genius must be acknowledged and felt. Time, 
while it levels all other distinctions, will leave un- 
touched, those created by the mind. 



PRAYERS OF THE MUSSULMAN. 305 

The prayers of the Mussulman at the rising and 
setting of the sun, and at mid-day, never fail to at- 
tract the ear and eye of the stranger in Smyrna. 
You hear at that hour from all the minarets of the 
mosques, a voice uttering in tones deep and solemn, 
the invocation — u Come to prayer — there is no God 
but God, and Mahomet is his Prophet — come to 
prayer — I summon you with a clear voice." — The 
faithful fall on their knees, and with their faces turned 
towards Mecca, bow themselves three times to the 
earth ; repeating between each prostration a brief 
prayer ; then slowly rising, seem to carry into their 
occupation, a portion of the solemnity which cha- 
racterizes this scene. Your impression is, that the 
follower of the Prophet, however erroneous may be 
his faith, is not ashamed of his religion — that he 
is not the being who will forego his prayers out of 
a shrinking, unbecoming regard for the presence or 
prejudices of others, — and your respect for him in 
this particular, is in proportion to his seeming want 
of it for you. Let those who put away the good old 
family Bible on some unseen shelf, and who go 
to bed at night without their domestic devotions — 
if a stranger be present — take a hint from the Mus- 
sulman. 

The most silent spot in Smyrna is that which 
you would expect to find the most noisy — the cafe- 
net, to be met with in every part of the town. You 
will find here at every hour of the day, thirty or 
26* 



306 COFFEE-HOUSE SCENE. 

forty Turks, seated under the trees which deeply 
shade the court — now and then giving a long whiff, 
and relieving the intervals by a sip of coffee, which 
atones for the absence of cream and sugar in its 
strength. All this while not a word is spoken ; not 
a sound is heard, save that of the little fountain, 
and even this in the faint lapse of its notes, seems 
falling asleep. On one occasion, and but one, I 
saw this silence broken up. 

I had observed two Turks, seated on opposite 
sides of the court, casting at each other between their 
whiffs, looks of rather a menacing character. No 
words, however, passed, — no inimical motions were 
made, — nothing indicated anger except the occa- 
sional scorching glance of a deep, black eye. When 
suddenly droping their pipes, they sprang at the 
same instant upon their feet, and discharged their 
pistols — but neither took effect. I expected to see 
them rush at each other with a plunging yategan ; 
but what was my surprise, when I saw each leisurely 
return his pistol to his belt, and resume his seat as 
composedly as if he had merely risen to pluck the 
orange that depended from the branch over his 
head. The company, so far from being thrown into 
confusion and uproar, continued silently to smoke 
their pipes ; the affair appeared not to furnish a topic 
of conversation sufficiently interesting to relieve the 
silence that ensued. This feature of the scene I 
liked ; it shows that the Mussulman, however irre- 



VICINITY OF SMYRNA. 307 

spective he may be of other salutary injunctions, 
strictly obeys, what sailors call the eleventh 
commandment — thou shalt mind thine own busi- 
ness. 

Among the most pleasant rides in the vicinity 
of Smyrna, is that to Bournebat, leading through 
a succession of vineyards and olive-groves, with the 
tulip and ranunculus blooming around in wild profu- 
sion. The village is ornamented with many ele- 
gant mansions, belonging to merchants in Smyrna, 
who seek here a refuge from the heat, dust and noise 
of the town. We were here introduced into the 
summer residence of Mr. Ofley, the American Con- 
sul, to whose influence, and hospitable attentions, 
we were indebted for many pleasures, connected 
with our cruise in the Levant. His agency in estab- 
lishing the relations, which now exist between us 
and the Ottoman government, entitles him to the re* 
spect and gratitude of his country. Nor should I fail 
to mention here, the many tokens of assiduous kind- 
ness which we received from our worthy countrymen, 
Messrs. Clark and Stith — merchants of a character 
and standing that do honor to America. Nor should 
I pass by the cheerful hearth, and benevolent efforts of 
the Rev. Mr. Brewer. His schools are diffusing a spirit 
of intelligence and inquiry among the Greeks, that 
will one day speak for itself. Why his institutions 
so full of goodly promise, and so essential to the hap* 
piness of those for whose benefit they were designed, 



308 RESOURCES OF SMYRNA. 

should have been denied the fostering care of the Ame- 
rican Board of Foreign Missions, is a mystery which 
I shall not here attempt to solve ; but it is a course 
of conduct, strangely at variance with their custo- 
mary wisdom and discernment. 

The Board owe it to themselves as well as the 
Christian public to explain their conduct towards 
Mr. Brewer. They have abandoned him under cir- 
cumstances equally wounding to his feelings, and 
injurious to the great cause in which they are em- 
barked. They have left him with four or five hun- 
dred Greek and Armenian boys, eager for instruc- 
tion, to struggle on as he can — to purchase from 
the most slender private means, even the books 
used by his pupils — to divide with them indeed, his 
last morsel of bread, while the funds thus withheld 
have been spent in sending out missionaries to be 
eaten up by the cannibals of Sumatra. They may, 
and doubtless will, disregard this allusion — this is not 
the place to agitate a question of this kind — but they 
may possibly be addressed in a form more appropri- 
ate and effective — a form which no wise man will, 
and no good man can, disregard. 

The favorable position of Smyrna for commerce, 
is the main source of its wealth, and political im- 
portance. It has been successively plundered by 
the enemy — overthrown by the earthquake — depop- 
ulated by the plague — and consumed by the flame ; 
but it has risen again to increased opulence and 



CONSULAR AUTHORITY. 309 

power, on the force of its commercial advantages, 
Alexander manifested his extraordinary shrewdness 
and judgment in its location. It would seem as if 
he intended to found a city, that should survive all 
the hostile agents, by which it could, in any possi- 
ble event, be assailed. It has been for centuries 
without fortress or wall ; and though often reduced 
in its sad vicissitudes to a ruin and a tomb, yet it now 
embraces the most dense and thriving population 
within the wide dominion of the Porte. 

The female beauty, which once brought to it the 
sculptor and painter for originals, may in some mea- 
sure have disappeared ; but its commercial facilities 
have assembled within it, from the most distant 
realms, another class of beings, whose enterprise 
contributes vastly more to its wealth and prosperity. 
It may look with composure at its temporary misfor- 
tunes, for it must stand and thrive, so long as the 
caravans of Persia can move— the vintage of the 
teeming year come round — and the ship hold its 
course over the deep. Nor need any be deterred 
from a residence here, by apprehensions of Turkish 
treachery and violence. The authority recognized 
in a Consular representative is no where held more 
sacred and inviolable. Heads may fall like rain- 
drops from an April cloud, but beneath the flag of 
his country the foreigner is safe. It is an aegis 
which the most profane weapon of the Mussulman 
dares not touch;— and its existence here is about 



310 PARTING WITH THE READER. 

as singular as a certain writer conjectured retreat 
in hell, where neither flame nor fiend may come. 

» And now, reader, I must bid you adieu. But if 
you have not been too much offended with some of 
my hasty expressions — if you have been amused by 
the light incidents of my story — if over its simple 
pages your hours have passed with a [less percepti- 
ble weight — meet me here again. That brilliant 
barge which rocks so lightly on the wave of this bay 
is to take me, and others whose society will afford 
you a much greater pleasure, to the strand of Ilium. 
Join our company and I will show you the palace 
of Priam, Achille's tomb, and Hellen's gushing 
fount. We will then pass up between the wildly 
wooded shores of the Dardanelles on to the bright 
bosom of the Marmora, and watch the city of Con- 
stantine, emerging in splendor from the wave ; glanc- 
ing at its domes and its delicate minarets, we will 
wind our way up the Golden Home into the valley 
of Sweet Waters ; — we will stray through the roman- 
tic dells of Belgrade — along the beautiful banks of 
the Bosphorus— catch the traits of those who dwell 
there in oriental gaiety — and returning, mount again 
to the deck of our ship — sail to the purple shores of 
Greece — walk around among the magnificent ruins 
of Athens — and visit the sweet isles of the iEgean. 
All this I promise you, if you will accord me your 
company,— and then you will find me more atten- 
tive than I have been — less forgetful of your tastes 



PARTING WITH THE READER. 311 

—and less captious under my own slight provoca- 
tions. 

But before we part, come with me down to the 
beach of this moon-lit bay, for at this still hour of the 
evening we have nothing to fear — nothing can break 
on our solitude — and let me tell you here, under the 
light of these sweet stars, what I love — for I know 
you must love the same things too, or things very 
much like these : — 



I love to wander on the shore of ocean, 
To hear the light wave ripple on the beach, 

For there's a music in their murm'ring motion, 
The softest sounds of earth could never reach,—* 

A cadence breathing more of joy than plaint, 

Like the last whispers of a dying saint. 

I love to wander, on a star-lit night, 

Along the breathing margin of a lake, 
Whose tranquil bosom mirrors to the sight 

The dewy stars ; where not a wave nor wake , 
Disturbs the slumbering surface, nor a sound 
Is heard from out the deep-hushed forest round. 

The vesper-star sleeps in that silent water 

So sweetly fair, so tenderly serene, 
You fondly think it is the bright-eyed daughter 

Of that pure element, and breathless, lean 
To catch its beauty, as if bent above 
The face of one you only live to love. 

But mine the grave hath won !— never my heart 
Wilt thou forget the sweet seraphic look, 

In which she meekly whispered, — " we must part,"-~ 
And with a faint and feeble firmness took 

The token from her neck, which still is prest 

In love and anguish to this bleeding breast. 

Bright sainted one !— The bloom of youth was on thee 
When thoudid'st smile and die — when I beside 

Thy couch, with doubting tears, still gaz'd upon thee, 
And idly thought thou yet would'st be my bride,— - 

So like to life the slumber death had cast 

On thy sweet face — my first Love and my last. 



u^ 



312 PARTING WITH THE READER* 

I watched to see thine eye its light unfold, 

For still thy forehead gleamed as bright and faif, 

As when those raven ringlets wildly rolTd 
O'er life, which dwelt in thought and beauty there; 

Thy cheek the while, seenrd conscious of the theme, 

That trembled through the spirit's mystic dream. 

Thy lips, though breathless, still retain'd the smile, 
That oft around their dewy freshness woke, 

When some more lightsome thought or harmless wile 
Upon thy warm and wandering fancy broke, — 

For thou wert nature's child, and took the tone 

Of every pulse as if it were thine own. 

I watch'd and still believ'd that thou would' st wake,— 
While others came to place thee in the shroud : 

I hoped to see this seeming slumber break, 
As I have seen a light, obscuring cloud 

Disperse, which o'er a star-sweet face had thrown 

A shadow, like to that which veil'd thine own. 

But no I— there was no token, look or breath : 
The tears of those around, the tolling bell 

Told me at last, that this was death ! 
I know not if I breathed a last Farewell ! 

But since that day, my sweetest hours have past 

In thought of thee— my first Love and my last. 



laiiiii; 

020 6777898 



